


Ten Minutes

by Caramelized



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, fix-it fic basically, silly & just for kicks, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caramelized/pseuds/Caramelized
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pretty ridiculous self-insert. I thought, "I bet Origins Loghain would make better decisions if he were getting enough sleep. And sex." </p><p>Then I imagined what would happen if someone (me) tried to explain this to him.</p><p>5th Blight, as seen by a (mostly) non-participant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Look at those bags under your eyes, dude_ , I thought to myself, saving and quitting Dragon Age: Origins as the cutscene of Loghain brooding evilly ended.  _You need, like, a solid 8 hours of sleep a night and a good lay, and I swear, you'd stop making all these terrible decisions._

I opened up a forum to share this brilliant thought. New thread. "A ten minute talk early on, and the whole game would be different," I typed, nodding to myself. I was so right about this. I hit "submit" on the comment, but something went wrong with my computer--it flashed white. Like, really bright white. More light than my screen ought to be capable of generating. Blinded me for a second. And when I could see again...

I was not in my room anymore. 

I've had a couple of experiences where, subsequently, I've wondered if I was hallucinating. Like, this one time I was positive that a bat had flown into my apartment, but I couldn't figure out how it got in and I never saw it leave so... maybe no bat. Using the bat incident as a touchstone, I noted more differences than similarities with my current situation. For example: the bat existed within the real, non-hallucinated world. It did not completely, wholly _replace_ the real world.

But no part of this new room resembled my bedroom. It was much bigger than my room had been, for example. More rectangular than square, with high ceilings. It appeared to be made of different materials than my house. Dressed stone instead of plain old wood-frame and stucco. And the furniture, too. I had a desk and a bed in my room. This room contained a couple of big armchairs, kind of fancy, and a coffee table looking thing. Long and low and not meant for working. 

I started to panic--quietly, without moving, pretty much just screaming internally--when the door opened and... oh. Oh, not good. A tall, angry-looking dude wearing shiny, clanky armor with two thin braids hanging down on either side of his face walked into the room.

All of a sudden, 'hallucinating' seemed like a best-case scenario. Because I knew that face and I knew what I'd just been typing and 'hallucinating' was far, far preferable to all the other options which sprang to mind. Chief among them: a deity with a cruel sense of humor. 

Loghain drew his sword. 

"Hello!' I said, as cheerfully as I could manage. I showed him my hands, palms out. "I was just leaving! Guess I got lost!" That was true. Always stick to the truth when babbling. "Sorry to disturb!" 

I stood up and tried to sidle towards the door. I was still in the worn jeans and faded t-shirt I'd been wearing all day, though at least I had a bra on. That was a plus. Bet they don't have underwires in Ferelden. 

"Try to run and you won't make it to the door," said Loghain.

I froze.

He opened his mouth again, turning his head just slightly--to project his voice behind him, I suspected--and I just knew the next word out of his mouth would be "Guards!" and the sentence to follow would be, "Take this interloper to the dungeon!" which was a sequence of events I very much wanted to avoid.   
  
"Wait!" I waved my hands. I might have jumped up and down. "Wait, wait, let's just... chat. No need to call for backup, right? Look at me, I'm unarmed"--Which, shit. That could be a problem--"And I have no martial skills at all"--like, none, this is really not an ideal situation for me--"So we can deal with this peacefully, right?"

"Very well." He took a step toward me, raising his sword. "Tell me what mischief you have done, woman. If you confess, I will be merciful." 

"One, I did no mischief." I tried to edge away from the blade. The point followed me, like I was a magnet. Ugh ugh ugh. "And two, I don't believe you. I think you have odd ideas about mercy."  
  
What if the only way to end the hallucination would be to let Loghain kill me? Or, if not Loghain, someone or something else. It seemed like a logical enough theory, but I was not eager to test it. 

"And so the 'peaceful' solution you proposed has failed, almost as soon as it was tried," said Loghain. "Now--"

"Okay, okay!" I tried to put a chair between myself and Loghain but, not surprisingly, he was way better at maneuvering himself into striking distance than I was at getting myself out of it. I had no practice. He had lots. Really not fair. "I may be here to... deliver a message... which you won't like... and I'd rather not, to be honest... but since it's starting to look like I'm dead either way..."  
  
"A message from whom?" he interrupted.  
  
"Good question," I muttered. I hadn't thought through who would give Loghain my excellent life advice, and I should have. A quick survey of the game characters told me that he wasn't likely to listen to anyone who was still alive. "Me, I guess. It's a message from me. Are you sure I can't just leave? It's not very interesting." 

"Enough," said Loghain, glancing behind me. Out the window, where it was too dark to see much. "It is late, and I haven't the time or the patience for this nonsense. You have been caught at your spying; you will not go free. Deliver your message or don't. Try to escape or don't. My guards are waiting outside. They will take you from here, dead or alive. As you choose." 

"When you put it that way... here goes. You'll look for reasons to ignore what I'm about to say, but, please, on behalf of"--all the fangirls who think you're hot--" _Ferelden_ , give it some thought. You're not at your best right now. You're making a lot of bad decisions and the effects are just going to snowball--"

"You _dare_ \--"  
  
"I haven't even _gotten_ to my message yet," I snapped. "And if _I'm_ going to go rot in a dungeon, _you're_ going to listen to the whole thing."  
  
He blinked. His sword dipped. 

"So. Like I was saying," I continued. "The problems you're dealing with are complex and this isn't going to solve them, I get that, but I really, really--sincerely, with all my heart--think that you would be in a much better place if you would just get some sleep and also some sex." 

"Foolish," he seethed, in a the-lady-doth-protest-too-much sort of way. "Idle fancies of a--base and vulgar mind. Lazy and lascivious men have sat on thrones before--"  
  
"Hey," I interrupted. "That's a straw man. I didn't say lazy or lascivious, did I? No. I said you, in particular, needed _some_ sleep and _some_ sex. And personally I would recommend quality over quantity. A couple nights of solid rest. A really good lay. You'll wake up wondering what you ever saw in Rendon Howe." 

"So you've been sent to separate me from Rendon? By whom?" He grimaced. "They have exhibited extremely poor judgment."

"Wouldn't that be awful? Whoever sent me would have to be a worse politician than you, and we both know that's a rarity." Yes, I was getting punchy. But I'd gotten a 'dead or alive' speech so why not go all out? Plus, so long as I kept talking he seemed to keep listening. Survival tactic. "For real, though. Half the stupid shit you do is his idea, and if you'd just _think_... has he tried his fantastic Antivan Crow idea out on you yet? Why would you agree to send an assassin after _Maric's son_? That's--"

He moved like he was made of smoke. Sleek and sinuous and so fast I could hardly follow. Just, one second he was a couple of feet away and the next he was right in my face and he'd pulled a dagger from somewhere and it was poking between my ribs. 

"Who sent you?" he snarled. 

I squeaked and buried my head in my hands. _Please let this be a hallucination._ I'd been hoping that delivering the message might trigger the end of the hallucination and I'd wake up, but that hadn't worked. Maybe I had to stay the full ten minutes? Maybe some inter-dimensional god wanted to laugh at me? "Loghain is a stubborn guy," the deity would say. "You couldn't convince him to wear a different color shirt in ten minutes." 

I blurted, "Don't kill me I know all the Gray Warden secrets!" 

The dagger dug in deeper. Shit.   
  
"So you're a Gray Warden?"  
  
"No, I'm not a Gray Warden." I shuddered. "If I survive long enough to have priorities, one of them will be to absolutely never become a Gray Warden. Really not worth it." 

"A bard, then." 

I peeked through two of my fingers. "You'd buy that?"   
  
He narrowed his eyes at me. Oh, God. There's a man who can narrow his eyes like he means it. Just a little squint and the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees. 

"Sorry. Bards are usually good looking and charming. I take compliments where I can get them." I was starting to think the dagger might have pricked me, so I sucked in my stomach a little. That helped. "You seem to be focused on me instead of contemplating my excellent advice, so let me remind you. All I said was to try sleeping and sex. Where's the downside? Put the idea to the test."

"And I suppose you're volunteering?" he asked silkily. 

The thought had occurred to me, I will not deny it. But since he was not-so-subtly suggesting I'd only sleep with him so I could kill him later, I answered, "You do whatever you think is best." 

He backed away and pointed--with his sword hand; he had the dagger in one hand and the sword in the other. "Sit."   
  
I sat.

"You are remarkably well informed," said Loghain.

I nodded. More than he knew.   
  
"But very badly behaved."   
  
I shrugged. Couldn't blame him for thinking so. 

He sighed. "The dungeons are not so terrible, Messere. You will find few comforts there, but nothing to fear." 

"All those torture devices really send the wrong message then." But I accepted the inevitable. He was done talking, and I knew what my choices were. I stood up and headed for the door and the guards and a very uncomfortable night. Right before I left I turned back and said, "Everything is stacked against you. I don't mean in general, either. I mean stacked against  _you_. I want you to have a shot. If you could stop being your own worst enemy, you might survive. You might do some good." 

The expression on his face at that moment--well, if it was a figment of my imagination, my imagination must be a bleak sort of place. I think he got it for a second. Felt that cold finger down his spine, saw his reckoning coming. 

Didn't stop him from sending me to the dungeon, though. 


	2. Chapter 2

I am really not used to sensory deprivation. I, like most moderately privileged Americans, have trained myself to cope with the opposite problem: overstimulation. Always an email or a text or a show or a book to hold my attention. Billboards dot the landscape and we've all learned to process them, text and words, while we _drive_. 

What I'm saying is: the dungeon really sucked and I'm working up a good reason why I was such a miserable wreck after the first day. 

When a tall, strong-featured woman stopped in front of my cell, I was delighted. I didn't care why. She was more interesting to look at than a bare wall and she wasn't an asshole guard who'd come to make lewd comments, so she was my new favorite person.

"You are the bard," said the woman. She had a voice to match her face. A little low for a woman but strong, even in tone. Pretty calm.

"I'm not a bard." I decided to guess, mostly based on the huge two-handed sword strapped to her back. "But you're Ser Cauthrien." 

The woman nodded. "You are well-informed." 

"Let's not get carried away, here. I bet half of Denerim knows your name." I stood up and slapped the grit off my jeans. Good thing they're old enough that dirt just gives them a nice, antiquey patina. "So, Loghain sent you?" 

" _Teyrn_ Loghain, the Regent, has asked to be present at your interrogation."

"Any chance you think that's a bad idea?" Because I sure did. The worst idea ever. "Like, maybe my imagination is getting away with me here, it's hard to say, but maybe Loghain has developed an unhealthy obsession with me, and you'd just as soon not encourage it?" 

This time her glare was a little different. A little uneasy, with a side of 'burn this witch at the stake'. And... sure, it's a leap. But if a strangely dressed and mildly prophetic person appeared in _your_ bedroom suite and told you that the secret to success in life was more sex, you'd probably fixate, too. 

"Because if you felt like letting me go, I'd be so happy to disappear. It would be easier for everyone." I paused. "Also, don't kill me." 

See, I'd begun to worry about giving away too much of the game. Here I am, in my little petri-dish hallucination, and I've said the thing I wanted to say. If I kept nudging Loghain with the knowledge I'd gained from playing the game, I'd be cheating. I needed to go wait out the Blight somewhere safe, check in after the Landsmeet to find out how everything went, and then find a way home.

Hmm. Except how would I find out if Loghain took my advice or not? A problem for another day. Right now my goals were pretty simple. Get out of the dungeon, don't spoil the experiment. (If I spoiled the experiment, would the hallucination end?)

"I am not so easy to suborn," said Cauthrien, unhooking a pair of manacles from a loop in her belt before she unlocked the door. "Your hands, Messere."

I offered her my hands. I hadn't expected any different. She was so _loyal_ and _honorable_ and I'd only ever killed her by cheating. "Have _you_ ever thought about having sex with Loghain?" 

Oh, direct hit. She thought about it all the time! 

"Is there anything I can do to help you reach that goal?" I asked. "You're kind of his type, you know." 

"I suggest you keep your comments to yourself," said Cauthrien, as quellingly as she could manage. Combined with the manacles? Pretty quelling. 

"So... what's the news from Lothering?" I asked. 

She gave me an odd look. "Lothering fell to the darkspawn only days ago."

"I hadn't heard. How awful." Awful for Lothering, but good for my sexual healing project. So far, I was pretty sure that Zevran was on his way to the Warden & Co., and they'd completed only one main story branch. Loghain still had time to avoid some of his bigger missteps. If only he'd do the right thing! 

"And the Circle of Magi? Everything hunky dory over at Kinloch Hold?" 

Cauthrien jerked my manacles, wrenching my shoulder sockets, which, I have to say, was both painful and unwarranted. 

We met Loghain in a creepy little room in the prison. Luckily, it was not a room full of torture devices. Unluckily, Loghain was wearing his plate-o-doom again and it looked like every blood vessel in his eyes had popped overnight. 

"You didn't sleep at all, did you?" I tsked. "Now where's the sense in that?"

Loghain glared and paced back and forth just like an angry cat, while Cauthrien sat down at the small wooden table at the center of the room and gestured for me to sit opposite. "Why don't you start by telling us how you reached the Regent's private rooms? I want the name of every servant you bribed. Every guard who looked the other way."

"That's a tougher question than you might imagine," I said. "But, listen. I don't answer to anyone in Thedas. I'm not part of any conspiracy. I'm just an... independent observer, you might say, with some friendly advice. Speaking of which: Teyrn Loghain, if Ser Cauthrien showed up to work in the morning looking like you do right now, I am fairly sure that you'd have words with her. Lack of sleep interferes with proper brain function. There are real costs--"

"And how am I to sleep, when I had to burn my mattress and bed-hangings, for fear that a spy had contaminated them with poison!" snarled Loghain.

"See, this is what I mean," I told him. "You live in a _palace_. There must be dozens of spare rooms. If you were thinking straight, you would have slept in one of them. You would not have stayed up all night _burning your furniture_."

"You could have poisoned--"

"Every single bed in the palace?" I rolled my eyes. "You have an estate in town, don't you?"

Loghain resumed his pacing. Cauthrien tried asking me some questions, the same ones over and over again. No, nobody sent me. No, I didn't have any help. No, I didn't mean the Regent any harm. Blah blah blah.

"You know, Loghain," I said, because I was bored and also I had a sneaky idea. "There are so many women who would be delighted to have sex with you. So, so many. In fact, if you want a suggestion--"

"Perhaps we should release her, Your Grace," Cauthrien interrupted.

I beamed at her. She's a quick thinker, Ser Cauthrien.

"Her trespass is regrettable, but it seems the product of a disordered mind rather than any ill intent," continued Cauthrien. "Her views are inappropriate, but not treasonous. Our resources are scarce enough as it is..." 

"You're right." Loghain sneered at me. "Back to the gutter you came from, woman." 

Not very nice, dude.

But I didn't have much time to stew on Loghain's parting comment. The dungeon had been scary but being being let loose in Denerim when I had no practical skills to speak of was _terrifying_. Crime all over, blood mages in the sewers, darkspawn on the way, and I had no idea how I'd make enough money to scram.

I sold my earrings, cheap gold-tone costume jewelry, for a few silver. Maybe I could have gotten a better deal, because the machined workmanship allowed for a lot of fine detail, but I didn't want to waste the whole day figuring out how or where. I had enough to bunker down at the Gnawed Noble for a few hours, nursing a mug of ale and trying to come up with a plan. 

Finally, I had the bare bones of an idea. I paid my tab at the Gnawed Noble and asked for directions to The Pearl.

Yup.


	3. Chapter 3

It came to me, after a pint or two, that I had at least _one_ skill that would transfer nicely from modern life to medieval-fantasy-land. Something I was really good at--like, honestly, much better than the average person--that I could sell for good money, because everyone needed it and many were happy to pay for quality. 

That would be food, you perverts. Everyone has to eat and I'm a great cook. I figured the primitive technology would limit me somewhat, but my internal recipe book included so many flavor combinations foreign to Ferelden that I could become a famous chef just by cribbing off of my repertoire of mid-week 'I'm tired, what sounds easy and tasty' dishes. So, yeah. 

I headed over to The Pearl and explained to the proprietress, Sanga, that I understood sex workers had a hard job and deserved to be treated with respect, just like anyone else who worked for their bread. She was not impressed, but then I got around to explaining finger foods and how if drunk people eat salt, they get thirsty and order more drinks, leading to an infinite loop of profit. That worked much better than my little sex worker speech. Another skill I hadn't appreciated: cheerfully exploiting impaired judgement for cash. It's like America's national sport. 

So I set myself up in the kitchen and, with the help of a couple minions, started churning out upscale bar food. Lots of dips, because most of them don't need cooking. Fried meat with dips, fried cheese with dips. You can heat up oil over an open fire, so frying worked pretty well. Fancy caramel corn with a rotating selection of peculiar garnishes. I'm a salad girl, personally, but I wasn't going to stick around long enough to start a health craze. 

Sanga set me up with a room in the attic and I got to know the ladies and gents who worked the joint. Some were really nice and friendly, which was great, because Phase One of my plan mostly involved collecting gossip. The Pearl was, as I had hoped it would be, an upscale sort of establishment. Lots of clients lived in the Palace District. Most of the Pearl's employees ventured out to the Palace District for discreet home visits, at least occasionally. Every single woman on staff had slept with Cailan at some point or other. 

Which meant--you guessed it-- _some_ of them had actually made discreet visits to the Royal Palace. I wasn't sure the old methods would work now that Cailan was dead, but it seemed like a good start.

A couple of weeks after I'd started in the kitchen, Sanga popped her head in while I was whisking up some ranch dip (no, it's not fancy, but it was certainly popular) and said, "Something you should see." 

I groaned. "I don't care how big it is--"

"Not this time," Sanga interrupted. "Fellow came in and we think he's asking for you."

"Me?" 

"He's got really specific tastes, but we showed him what we've got, and he keeps asking if we've maybe _forgotten_ someone. Girl he wants sounds like you." 

"Well, that's subtle," I said. 

"He's military, at a guess. Good at following orders, bad at making shit up. You need to escape out the back?" 

"Nah." I put down the ranch and pointed to one of my minions. "This is done. Can you take it from here?" 

The minion nodded. "Got it!" 

I picked up a little paper tea bag, opened up a sealed canister, and filled it halfway. After hunting around a bit, I found a decorative ribbon to tie it shut with. "All right, let's go meet this fellow with very specific taste." 

He was so uncomfortable. It's not like I hang out in brothels at home (though sometime, I have to tell you the story of the taco joint that turned out to be a whorehouse--no, TRUE STORY), but I would bet you a million dollars that this poor kid had never set foot in one, and wished someone else had drawn the short straw and been sent in his place. 

He was young and handsome, in a generic, beefcake-y sort of way. He had really, really good posture. 

"So," I said, sitting down across from him at a small table. "Loghain sent you." 

He jumped at least six inches. Turned so white I knew he was imagining being dressed down and whipped in front of all his peers, his entire life ruined because of one colossal failure. 

Ah, youth.

"Tell me something," I asked. "Does he look like he's been sleeping at all?" 

"Um," said the kid. 

"A little? Not so much? Those awful purple circles under his eye looking a little less bruisey at all?" 

"Not really," he admitted. 

"He's probably been in a bad mood," I suggested. "Like, maybe for the last decade or so? But especially the past couple of months. He must be _unbearable._ " 

"You have no idea," admitted the soldier, almost sagging with relief at having the truth out in the open. 

"Okay, well. I'm sorry you got stuck with this job. It's no fun, and I really sympathize with your feelings right now." I reached over and gave his hand a little comforting pat. "So here's the good news. I'm the person you're looking for. But I'm the cook, so I'm not going to sleep with you--I know that would have made this outing a little more exciting! But maybe you're relieved? Yeah, I can see that. Anyhow." 

I set the bag of tea on the table. 

"Bring this back to Loghain, would you?"

"What's this?" the young soldier asked, suspiciously. 

"It's herbal tea," I told him. "I'd like you to give it to Loghain and tell him that it might help him--please, I want these exact words-- _get some fucking sleep already._ " 

The young soldier paled.

"Sorry," I said. "He's probably going to... I don't know, _burn_ the tea or something. Or maybe, if he's in a really reasonable mood, he'll just throw it away. That's fine. But when he does, I'd like you to tell him--from me--that there's nothing special about this herbal tea. He could have a pot of tea sent up from the palace kitchens and it would work just as well. Probably better! I bet they've got great tea at the Palace." 

"I can't do this," blurted the soldier. "I'm sorry. I cant. You don't understand--"

"I promise, Loghain will be shocked if you don't," I told him, very confidently. "I've only spoken to him twice, but if he's sent you here to find me, he remembers the sort of nonsense I spout."

The young soldier took the bag of tea. 

"Remember," I told him. "The exact words are: _get some fucking sleep already._ " 

The poor kid left looking like I'd just kicked him in the balls. Sorry, kid. Chances were Loghain wouldn't take it well. 

I went about my business for the next few days. I worried, a little, that a troop of soldiers would march into the Pearl and arrest me. But Loghain must have had bigger problems--scratch that, make it _definitely._

Then payday came around and I was feeling pretty excited. Sanga had agreed to pay me on commission--a small portion of all the food she sold went to me. It was so much money! I knew that fried food with dips would be popular, but I was starting to think I should just give up on returning home and stay in Thedas forever and let the gold roll in because _wow_. 

I took an afternoon off and returned to the Market District, so I could buy some new clothes. I'd been wearing the random stuff that gets left behind at a brothel, which had been... colorful. Literally and figuratively. Now, I was on Thedas or perhaps experiencing an extremely long-lasting and detailed hallucination, so I had bigger things to worry about than clothes. For all that, once I had a purse full of gold sovereigns, I decided I'd buy myself a dress. It would be hideous and it might have awful gold stitching around the tops of my boobs, but I'd blend a little better.

When I got to the Market District I discovered something very surprising: the doors to the alienage were open.

I poked my head in, wondering if anyone would stop me, or if I'd cross the bridge and find everyone on the other side dying of magical plague. And while the alienage was definitely a slum--and by that I mean: criminally neglected by the civic authorities--I didn't see any creepy Tevinter mages lurking around.

I tossed a silver to a street urchin, and got the answer I'd wanted so badly I'd hardly dared hope for it: there _had_ been a plague, but it had ended abruptly. The last of the sick had recovered near-miraculously, the healers had left, and now the alienage had re-opened. 

I sort of stumbled to the nearest supportive, vertical surface (a wall, the wall of one of the crumbling, ramshackle houses) and leaned against it for a few minutes, feeling lightheaded. Something had changed. Something from the canonical Origins story had _changed_. 

I decided it was time to move on to the next step of my plan. If the wind was turning in my direction, I needed to capitalize on it. So I went to the Pearl's main competitor in Denerim--a place called "The Sweet Roll"--and found a prostitute who looked a little like Rowan was supposed to look. Brown haired and athletic, anyhow. I gave her the instructions I'd managed to glean through gossip, overpaid her, and sent her to the Royal Palace to sleep with Loghain.


	4. Chapter 4

So... that didn't work. 

The poor prostitute ended up in Fort Drakon for the night. Having spent a night in Fort Drakon myself, I felt awful about that. But in a meaningless, shallow way, because I promptly gave it another try with a different woman. Well. Three more tries. By the time I tried convincing a really pretty, nicely muscled prostitute at Denerim's fifth-best brothel (the Happy Valley) to head to the Palace for a night with Ferelden's reigning Hero, she refused before I got halfway through the request. 

"I know all about you," she said. "And I'm not spending the night in prison for a prank." 

It's not a prank! It's an honest, sincere attempt to avert disaster and upheaval on a national scale! But I didn't explain because, yeah, maybe it sounds crazy. "Oh, I've got it all figured out! It'll only take me ten minutes to save the world!" Cue a nice self-administered pat on the back. 

I guess I'm an idiot? An idiot who'd spent more than half of my wages sending prostitutes to a man who turned around and clapped them in jail. Pretty reckless behavior when I could have been doing something sensible like, say, saving up for an escape from the Blight that would climax in an all-out attack on the city where I currently resided. 

Sighing, I left the Happy Valley and set out for the Pearl. Maybe it was time for me to invent cocktails. At least in my world, you could charge _so much money_ for cocktails. I could buy a boat. And a crew. And leave it in the harbor, waiting until news of the Landsmeet started to spread--or until I met the Warden at the Pearl! Wouldn't that be something!--and then lift anchor and sail off into the sunset. 

Maybe I should just wait until Isabella arrived. She had a boat, and she survived the entire Origins plot only to show up in DA:II with much better hair. If I stuck close to her, I might just make it through. 

I was winding my way through the crooked back alleys that would take me home when I realized, with a prickle of alarm, that the street was _deserted._ No other foot traffic. No doors open, no one sitting on their stoop, no children playing. At dinner time? With the sun just set but the sky still light, and people still coming home from work? 

I was scanning the area for places to hide when the attack came. 

Four bandits. I'd say "only" four, because this sort of encounter would hardly be a warm-up in the game, but every single one of these goons could have overpowered me without much effort. Combined, my chances were nil.

I tried throwing my purse at them, then running in the opposite direction. If they only wanted money... if I could slow them down a little... but they didn't even stop to pick it up. They chased me down and I _knew_ it was hopeless, I _knew_ that struggling would get me nowhere, but I still thrashed and clawed and bit with whatever strength I could muster. Because I also knew that I couldn't let them take me. That's the rule, isn't it? Whatever happens when you're attacked in public, however bad it is, it's better than what will happen when your attackers can control the environment and take their time. 

So if I was going to die, I wanted it to be right then. When I'd just _die._

But the four ruffians would not be provoked. They didn't fight back, or hit me, or anything. They trussed me up like a Christmas goose (I've never had a Christmas goose, or seen one cooked--they trussed me up like for an elaborate bondage demonstration? They trussed me up like an old piece of luggage that's starting to fall apart?) and rolled me up in an old dusty carpet that made me sneeze and cough. Then one of them tossed me over his shoulder, which dug into my stomach and made me want to puke with every jouncing step that he took. 

When they finally unrolled me, a very uncomfortable hour or so later, I was in a dungeon. A small, windowless cell with moisture seeping through the mortar between the stones, and slick grime on the floor, and a pile of hay that smelled really disgusting in one corner. 

The thugs who'd captured me rolled the carpet back up and left me alone, without a word or even a nasty taunt. I stood until my legs got tired, because the ground looked so disgusting, but eventually that got tiring and I lowered myself down to sit on the filthy floor. My stomach growled; I hadn't eaten since lunch, and dinnertime had come and gone.

Eventually, hinges creaked loudly somewhere down the long dark corridor, and then footsteps clapped against the stone. A middle-aged man stopped in front of my cell. A little owlish, hair mostly gray, jowls. He looked soft and pleased with himself and impatient with everyone else, like someone's rich grumpy dad.

"You're sure this is the one?" asked Rich Grumpy Dad. 

"Yes," answered the guard to his right. "Seen her at the Pearl. Everyone has." 

"In my capacity as cook," I squeaked. "I'm just a cook!" 

"I don't think so," said Rich Grumpy Dad. "You've been meddling in affairs of state, haven't you? Bending the Regent's ear. Seeking him out in private places, swaying him with your wiles." 

My _wiles_? Since when do I have _wiles_?

"Who's paying you?" asked Rich Grumpy Dad. 

"Sanga?" 

Rich Grumpy Dad considered this answer. "I didn't know she had an interest. She should have approached me directly..." He frowned. "Or one of my people. I'm hardly going to meet with a woman of her ilk." 

I didn't really know what to make of that, so I just leaned against the wall, trying not to be noticed. 

"I'll see what she wants," said Rich Grumpy Dad. "You, on the other hand. You can stay right here." 

He left. On the whole, this seemed like the second-best-case scenario (the first being that he release me). Especially after someone started screaming nearby. I didn't sleep very well that night, but clearly, things could have been a lot worse. 

I got a bit of water the next morning, which was... better than nothing. I mean, people die of thirst much, much faster than they'll die of starvation. So water! It's great! Except I'd started to feel like my stomach was eating itself and my eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and I felt generally filthy. 

And... upset. Telling myself that I was hallucinating had helped me to stay cheerful. Everything seemed not quite real, not quite serious. But hallucination or not, I'd been in Thedas for weeks and it _felt_ pretty damn real. I'd gotten a job. I'd been living in a brothel in a bad part of town. And now I was sitting in a filthy dungeon where 'shameful neglect' seemed like the best I could hope for, and I had no hope of escape. 

It did become clear, over the next couple of days, that Rich Grumpy Dad was Rendon Howe. Arl of Amaranthine, acting Teyrn of Highever, acting Arl of Denerim, and King of Assholes. I guess I was surrounded by Important Prisoners who could make a difference in the Landsmeet, and maybe had become one of them? I got more water and a few crusts of bread and reminded myself that if I managed to avoid outright torture, eventually the Hero of Ferelden would probably show up and save me. 

Still, the imprisonment was endless. And boring. And painful. I couldn't bear to lie down on the filthy floor, and I had no choice but to use the straw as a toilet. Screams and snaps and jeering punctuated the frequent torture sessions; I probably escaped them by being so insignificant, but maybe there was just a really long queue.

And I'll tell you something terrible but true: I was grateful. I would not have traded places with any of those people. Not for one second, not for a million sovereigns. 

I was sitting with my back against the wall of my cell, knees up and arms looped around them, thinking up creative names for cocktails--I was so hungry I thought about food a lot, and so generally worn down that coherent thought of any kind had become a bit of an ordeal. What do you think of _the Mercy Killer_? It would involve bourbon and homemade bitters. Or--a variation on the usual frightful screaming brought on a burst of inspiration--maybe _Brain Bleach_? That would have to be gin or vodka, I guess, and I could use a pitcher of the stuff. I'd spend the rest of my (short? miserable?) life bleaching these noises out of my memories.

Steel clashed; people shouted at one another; some of the angry shouts transitioned into yelps and agonized moans and tearful begging. The noises got closer and closer and then Loghain Mac Tir was standing in front of my cell, at the head of a small band of armed warriors. He wore his Orlesian plate and carried a longsword that dripped blood, his little braids swinging while his face was frozen in an expression of lethal menace.

"Andraste's ass," said Loghain, looking down at me. "I was hoping you'd given up."

"Oh, I definitely have." I'd given up on everything. "But you're looking pretty good."

He was. Big and terrifying, yes. Pushed to the edge of sanity? No. The bags under his eyes hadn't disappeared--this man had not lived a restful life, and it showed--but they were not so deep or so purple. His startling ice-blue eyes were clear, sharp with intelligence.

"You're safest here until the dungeon is clear," he said. "We'll be back."

They moved on. The screams and moans and begging started up again. So, guess I knew what was going on. Sort of. I knew who was winning. It continued for a while; I'm not sure how long, because I hadn't seen daylight in... a while... and I'd started to get a little fuzzy about time passing.

Eventually, Loghain came back and opened up the cell door. One of his companions knelt down and picked me up, which I appreciated. I'd have crawled out of that dungeon on my hands and knees if I'd had to, but it wouldn't have been pretty.

"We're taking you to the Palace," said Loghain. "You'll have food and rest there."

I nodded.

The plate-clad warrior carried me up the long stairs out of the dungeon and down the hallways to the front hall of the Arl of Denerim's estate, where Ser Cauthrien waited with a brace of guards.

"Secure the estate," said Loghain. "We've searched, but I suggest a very thorough second pass. Gather up all of Howe's papers as you go, and have them sent to me. Letters, account books, everything you can find."

Ser Cauthrien saluted.

The plate-clad warrior shifted me in his arms. I guess he was getting tired, and after all those steps, I couldn't blame him. He was very impressive, and I was very smelly.

The warrior carrying me managed just fine all the way out the gates of the estate and for a few blocks after, but then he started struggling. I'd start to slip out of his arms and latch on as best I could while he jogged me about, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"I can walk," I said, and he put me down with a quickness.

I steadied myself and hobbled along in their wake. I _could_ walk, just not nearly so fast as they were. And the sunlight hurt my eyes so I had to squint and stare down, which made it hard to see where I was going. And I was a little dizzy.

"Enough," snapped Loghain, who shot the warrior who'd carried me a scathing look before he bent to pick me up.

"Best hallucination _ever_ ," I said dreamily.


	5. Chapter 5

I kind of wanted to tug on his braids. Or just generally poke at him. If I'd had more energy I'd have done it, but then he'd have put me down and I'd have been stuck trying to walk again. I did fuss at those steel shoulderpad things, which I have always found ridiculous. Oh, I mean _silverite_ shoulderpads. The one I grabbed swiveled a little, like it was on a hinge, which made sense--the arm and chest plate could slide underneath it as he moved, protecting the joint and allowing for more freedom of movement. 

"Would you stop that?" he snapped, not bothering to look at me. 

I sighed and tried to settle; heavy armor does not make for a comfortable cradle, even if the man inside it is extremely good looking. "The Fussbudget," I said. "It will be one of those drinks with three different layers, where each layer is a different color, and everyone wants to order it but no one wants to drink it, because that ruins the effect." 

"What are you on about?" 

"Naming a cocktail after you," I replied.

"A _what?_ " he said, sounding thoroughly outraged. 

I wondered what I'd said to offend him and started snickering when it hit me. _Cocktail_. What a funny word. I wondered what I'd think a cocktail was, without any context to help me figure it out, and... look, I'm not going to write it down. I have some pride left. But go ahead and come up with your own bizarre, Dali-esque mind pictures. Shouldn't be hard. 

Then I thought about a cocktail _weenie_ and I really started laughing.

"Sorry," I gasped, between giggles. "I'm just really, really hungry." 

He sighed. "You haven't long to wait." 

We crossed into the Palace courtyard a moment later. He left me in a little bedroom and marched off, while I stood by the door uncomfortably, too filthy to touch anything. Food came first, a clear broth with noodles in it and hot tea, and then a bath. I peeled off my recently-new, now-ruined "the gold stitching around the boobs is okay so long as I blend in" dress, my bra and underwear... had to salvage that bra somehow, seriously... and sank into the water. 

Taking a bath when you're really filthy is so gross, but being _less_ filthy is so great, and I was in the mood to look on the bright side. The bath had come with a bar of soap and a towel, so I scrubbed myself from top to bottom--three times--and then, after I'd dried myself off, I draped the towel over the top of the tub because I didn't want to see the dirty water.

I prowled around the room looking for something to cover myself with. Brothels are really superior to palaces, in this respect. A few servants came to take away the bath and I jumped behind a curtain while they cast superior looks at one another. Eventually I ripped a sheet off the bed and wrapped myself in it. 

And this was how Loghain found me when he arrived, an hour or so later. It was evening by then--it had been bright and sunny when Loghain and the sidekick carried me from the Arl of Denerim's estate, but the light faded while I took care of the basics, cleaning and eating. The stars were out when the knock sounded and--get this--he wasn't wearing the plate! He was wearing a doublet and trousers, black with gray accents, and a sword at his hip.

I told you I have some pride left, but not enough! So, confession time: I got my hopes up. It was late. He would not need a trained assistant to get undressed. I had no clothes at all. Seemed like the start to a _wonderful_ evening.

That's what _I_ was thinking when I opened the door. He, on the other hand, stared somewhere over my right shoulder and seemed to be looking for an excuse to leave and come back later. 

"I promise to keep my hands to myself," I said, rather glumly, while I kicked the sheet so it wouldn't tangle in my feet and stepped away from the door. 

That won me the ghost of a smile, and he stepped inside. 

I minced over to one of the chairs in the room--there were two, angled toward one another and facing the window--clutching the sheet to my chest and taking tiny steps to keep from tripping

"So," I asked, sitting down. "What am I doing here?" 

He sat, too, though he kept one hand near his sword and and the other on the arm of his chair, braced to jump up and, I don't know, defend himself at a moment's notice. Habitual caution, I'm guessing. I'm not sure what could be less threatening than a tired, half-starved woman in a sheet.

"You told me that you know the Gray Warden secrets," said Loghain. "I need you to explain them to me." 

"Oh, yeah. Hmm." I paused. "About that." I was committed now, wasn't I? I'd _suffered_ for my experiment. I couldn't spoil it at this late date. "I can't."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to go ahead an admit that I'm much too squeamish to write about torturing a character who's a stand-in for myself, hence the plot armor my protagonist acquired in the Howe dungeon.
> 
> Likewise, I can't imagine writing anything really smutty about a self-insert. Sorry! I know that I were a reader, I'd be bummed.

"You _can't_ ," Loghain repeated in a chilly, accusing tone. 

I rucked the sheet up a little higher over my chest, as though it might shield me from his sudden hostility. I don't know why I'd assumed we were pals. If Loghain had only rescued me to squeeze me for information, this was a truce at best.

I actually opened my mouth to tell him to go pester Riordan--he should have been in Howe's dungeon, and if he were smart, he'd explain. But on second thought, I couldn't volunteer him for interrogation. An Orlesian Gray Warden wasn't likely to receive gentle treatment.

So I shut my mouth and thought, very carefully, about what I'd say next.

Loghain chuckled. Yeah, ha ha, sometimes I speak before I think. Must be nice not to have that problem.

"I have a proposition," I said finally. 

"Go on." 

"Answer a couple of questions for me," I said, "and I'll answer one question for you. Any one question." 

"You're serious." 

"It's a great deal," I assured him. "Very much in your favor."

"Do I really need to tell you how easy it would be to demote you from _guest_ to _prisoner_? Why would I trade for answers I could wrest from you at no cost?" 

I thought about that for a minute, too. He gave me the time, which I appreciated. 

"Fair enough," I said. "How about this: if you answer a question for me, I'll give you an idea of what you might want to _ask_. You wouldn't come up with the right questions on your own, I promise." 

He narrowed his eyes and goosepimples raced down my arms. I really could have used a sweater right about then. Hell, I'd have reached for a parka.

"What is your question?" he asked. 

"What happened to Caladrius?" 

Loghain's fingers twitched toward his sword, but he held back the impulse to draw. "What do you know of Caladrius?" 

"I know that he is a blood mage. I know that he is a slaver. I know that he arranged to buy elves from the Denerim alienage, so that he could ship them to Tevinter and sell them." 

"How?" 

"Answer my question first," I suggested. "Better I try to explain it all at once." 

"The answer concerns you." He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, but met my eyes and held them. "Some choices are hard to live with; they ought to be. And I've made such choices that... If I can't sleep, I've gotten off lightly. My comfort, my _peace of mind_ , don't move the scales when balanced against the future of Ferelden. We must defeat the darkspawn and retain our independence. If the price of victory is my soul, I will pay it gladly." 

He nodded to himself--hearing his own words, and finding them still sound. 

"But I had not asked myself if a man who is unable to sleep--for days, and weeks, and months--is capable of leadership," he continued. "Not until Cauthrien questioned you in Fort Drakon. You were right. I would reprimand a soldier who reported for duty worn down and depleted. I would think him--or her--irresponsible, and I would not trust him with important tasks."

"I have wanted to tell you this," he continued. "Your advice was good, and I listened. I asked myself--if I wanted to sleep at night, what must I do? And then: could I do it?" Loghain paused. "I had no trouble answering the first question. Some difficulty with the second, and I admit that I am still uneasy. But I sent Caladrius packing, and I slept. Not well, mind you." He chuckled, a rasping, humorless sound. "But well enough to feel the difference when I awoke. Well enough to realize that I had been compromised."

I was pleased and... moved, honestly. I had been playing--like, literally, _playing_. A game. But this was what had made Loghain my favorite character--if you recruit him, he answers questions so honestly it's almost like he's cracked open his ribs and thrown his heart down on a slab for you, and he does it with all the ceremony of a village butcher. Which is to say: none at all.

He has the sort of frankness that brings conversations to a screeching halt, makes people sidle away uncomfortably. It's too much. It's _inappropriate_. And it makes me _melt_.

Somehow, _rough_ and _tender_ are the same thing for him. Undifferentiated, knotted together. And seeing it for myself, seeing it new--not the same scenes that I'd watched and read enough times to find them boring--sort of made me want to cry. 

(I say "sort of," but you should understand that what I actually _mean_ is that my vision had gone quite blurry and I had to tilt my head back so that I did not weep like a baby.)

"Nothing to say?" he asked, a little wry now. 

I sniffled and blinked a few times, catching the tears in my eyelashes. "Why did you send away all my nice prostitutes!" 

He raised an eyebrow. "You failed to persuade me of the benefit to doing otherwise." 

"I could explain." I wiped at my eyes. "I could be _very convincing._ "

"And perhaps I am willing to... listen." He leaned on the last word, emphasizing it, and _Oh my God_ I almost burnt up on the spot. "But it's time for you to hold up your end of the bargain. How do you know about my dealings with Caladrius? What, pray tell, should I be _asking_?"

"Oh." I took a deep breath and resettled myself--tried to pull my thoughts out of the gutter. It was such a lovely gutter, though. Did you know that Loghain has really nice hands? Nice, big, muscular hands? With a sprinkling of wiry dark hairs on the back and neatly trimmed nails and big square palms? I do. I know that now. I'll never forget it. "I know about Caladrius the same way I know about the Crow, which is the same way I know about a war that won't start for ten years, or who the next Divine will be." I paused. "My knowledge is not natural in origin." 

He stood. Recoiled, really, like I was toxic and even the air I breathed might contaminate him. "You are a witch."

"Not even a little." Then, because I knew it would seem like mind-reading, I added, "I'm nothing like Flemeth. But I know the source of her knowledge, and what her true nature is."

"And you're offering me a glimpse of the future? Of this--war, that is yet to come? Do I have a part to play in it?" 

"If you live that long," I answered bluntly.

"I see."

"I shouldn't tell you _any_ of what I know," I continued. "It would be nice to arrange things the way I'd like, to guarantee the outcome I want--there's a chance I could manage it. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I believe you can figure this out on your own, not because I want to lead you around by the nose."

"Where are you from?" Loghain interrupted. 

"A place so far away that you've never heard of it." That sounded nicely dramatic. Dragon Age: Fortuneteller! 

"As long as I've agreed to answer one question, there are a few more options you might consider," I continued. "I could I could tell you a secret that would ruin Celene, if it were discovered...or give you great power over her. I could tell you what kind of a queen Anora will be, if she's left to rule alone. I could tell you what happened to Maric when he sailed away, and where he ended up." 

Now _that_ got his attention. He vibrated, just as if I'd hooked him up to an electric current. "You lie." 

I shrugged. 

"Is Maric alive?" 

"I could answer that question, but it's probably not the best choice," I said. "One word answer, either way."

"I must think on this." He pinched his nose and shut his eyes briefly. "I cannot say that I believe... but neither can I dismiss you." 

"I know about the rosebush you killed at Gwaren Keep," I said. "I know about the night you almost quit the Rebellion." 

Loghain hissed and paced to the door. 

"Sorry," I said. "Just presenting my bona fides. I have one more question before you go--why did you turn on Howe?" 

"Howe?" Loghain seemed distracted, too troubled by recent revelations to fully give his attention to anything else. "I told myself I needed him more than I needed to get rid of him--the country is unstable enough and allies are thin on the ground. But the man clearly had his eyes on the throne." He glanced at me. "I believed he had designs on Anora." 

"He did."

"Whether you speak truth or lies, such assurances are..." He searched for the right word. "Dangerous." 

"Sleep and sex," I told him.

"Yes." He half-smiled. "Perhaps you have been wise, all along, to keep your advice so simple." 

"So _universal,_ " I corrected. "Sex makes people think of the future instead of the past."

"What?" 

"That's my persuasive argument. You feel like shit and you're brooding about things you can't change--sex will cut down on that. It's not a solution. But it'll do in a pinch." 

"Not very sentimental, are you?"

"Look who's talking."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed to answer a knock on the door. I saw a tall, eerily composed woman with cheekbones that could cut glass and an unfair quantity of wheat-blonde hair braided into a pair of low buns at the back of her head.

Aw, shit. What was Anora doing here? 

"I bear gifts," she said, lifting the pile of clothing in her arm. "Apparently your clothes had to be burned." 

"Wait, _all_ of them?" I almost dropped my sheet. "Not the--not the lace thing with the metal wires? Please tell me nobody burned the lace thing with the thin wires--"

"I'm sorry," said Anora. "All of it was burned. But I've replaced everything from my own wardrobe, and the quality--"

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!" I snatched the pile of clothing, clutched it to my chest, and hobbled behind the screen that separated the bed from the rest of the room. "I'll never be able to make a new one! It's too complicated! Even if I had the materials--do you even have rubber in Thedas?" Then I remembered how rubber had been, for many years, the locus of particularly brutal colonial oppression and added, "I hope not! And even if you did I doubt I'd be able to make elastic out of it. I don't have useful skills like that!" 

There's no way to make a bra without elastic, right? You need it for the band. So it stays tight and sticks to your skin even while your chest expands and contracts as you breathe.

"I assure you, you won't find anything finer than these items I've brought you." Anora sounded rather miffed, now. "It's the very best quality--" 

"I'd trade your entire wardrobe for a single good bra," I told her, sorting through the clothes. They _were_ pretty nice. Silk and cashmere and fine linen. I'd sell them as soon as I left the Palace and make a bundle. But my bra. Oh, man, my bra. The one thing I'd brought from home that I really wanted to keep. "If you'd ever had one, you would too." 

"This item must have been very precious to you. I regret that it did not receive the care it deserved." Anora's tone lost its sharpness, but not its stiffness. "Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am..."

"Wait, wait!" I stepped out from behind the screen, still tugging and tucking all the new garments into place. "Introductions should be made face to face, don't you think?"

I'd never been introduced to a queen before, and it would probably never happen again. I wanted to enjoy it. 

"Why... yes, just so. I am Anora, Queen of Ferelden." She clasped her hands together in that pretty, formal way she did in the game. "And you are...?" 

"Honored to meet you, Your Majesty." I dipped into a deep curtsey, plucking the velvet skirt and holding it out while I bent one knee and slid the other leg back. Everything I know about curtseying I learned from watching Hollywood movies, which reliably get important details wrong. Hopefully I wasn't embarrassing myself. 

"Rise, please." She held out her arm to me, more comfortable now that the hierarchy had been established. "Would you like to take a walk? I'll show you the gardens, and a bit of exercise will help you recover your strength. I understand you've been through quite an ordeal."

I took the arm she offered and, elbows interlocked, we left the little room I'd been given when Loghain brought me to the palace. Beyond lay a square courtyard with a well-tended garden in the center, ringed by a covered walkway supported by carved columns. A cloister, essentially.

Anora led me away, though, so apparently we were going to visit a different garden. She guided us through a maze of stone corridors, some of which looked familiar from the night I'd arrived, when I'd been marched to the dungeon... though that might have been my imagination. They weren't tremendously distinct from one another; I'd have been lost on my own.

"I'm not sure how long I was in Howe's dungeon," I said. "A few weeks, I guess. Every minute seemed like an age, but by the end, I was in a sort of trance. Months could have gone by and I'm not sure I would have been aware of it."

Anora shivered. "I'm so glad..." 

"To have avoided it?" I nodded. "How did you figure out that Howe was plotting against you?" 

This won me a sharp look. "For a... what is it? A _cook_? You take quite an interest in politics." 

"Just a cook," I assured her. "Put me to the test if you don't believe it. In a fair competition against the Palace chef"--I frowned--"is the Palace chef Orlesian?" 

"Alas, no," said Anora. 

"Antivan?" 

"Ferelden, of course." 

"I'd probably come out on top, then." 

"Many spies learn skills that distract attention away from their true purpose," said Anora. "I'm surprised more do not hide themselves in kitchens, as cooks can be inconspicuous and their work provides many opportunities to administer poison."

"Everyone thinks I'm a spy. I can't blame you, but it's getting boring. Though..." I brightened. "Would you like to get rid of me? Maybe toss me on a ship headed for Rivain? Or... not Tevinter, please, but the Free Marches would do." 

Anora frowned. 

"The Blight," I explained. "I'm trying to save up enough money to buy passage out of Ferelden, but it'll take a while." 

"Howe and my father had been fighting in recent days. After being inseparable for months, all of a sudden they could not agree about anything," said Anora, changing the subject abruptly. "My father tells me he owes his abrupt change in attitude to you."

I beamed. "That's very sweet of him."

Anora's frown deepened. "Sweet? My _father_?" 

"Not the right word?" 

Anora laughed. "Certainly not one I hear often." 

We finally reached the gardens she'd wanted to show me--a walled enclosure shaded by trees and bright with flowers. Anora guided me along a path that wound its way between gurgling fountains and wrought-iron benches, the small flagstones underfoot made of some milky, translucent stone like alabaster or agate. 

"Any news from Orzammar?" I asked. "Has a new king been crowned yet?"

"Indeed. Bhelen Aeducan is the new King of Orzammar..." Anora stopped short, birds chirping cheerfully overhead. "We received word only days ago, while you were locked up in a dungeon. How could you--" 

"The succession has been up in the air for months, now," I cut in. "The decision is long overdue." 

"That's true." But she did not seem entirely convinced.

And we were one step closer to the Landsmeet. It really was high time I stopped meddling and started looking out for Number One--speaking of which, was Alistair out there somewhere, having a fateful conversation with Goldanna? I wondered how that had turned out, if so.

"For a time, I feared I had lost my father and my husband in a single stroke. My husband to death and my father to"--Anora blanched, smoothed her features with visible effort, and forged ahead--"to madness. But my father, the man I know, has returned. The north has devolved into chaos and I see dark days ahead, and yet... I am more hopeful than I have been since before Ostagar. If any credit goes to you, you have my gratitude." 

I could hear it coming, so I said, "But?" 

"I wonder what your motives are." She bent to pull a weed from a cluster of tulips, which then she tossed behind her onto the path. Really saving the gardeners a lot of work there, Anora. "I admit, I would find it easier to trust you if I knew what you stood to gain from your interference." 

From everything I knew about Anora, she seemed like the kind of person who would understand the deep satisfaction of being right. Especially about something controversial, where she'd staked her reputation on an unlikely result. But I could hardly explain that I was using her, the country she ruled, and everyone she loved as a means to score a point or two in a very low-stakes debate. Like Loghain, this had never been a game to her. 

"I don't need you to trust me."

Just then, a page scurried up to us, red-faced and out of breath. "Your Majesty," he gasped, making a small bow between huffs. "Your Majesty, a message."

"Go on," said Anora. 

"Arl Eamon has arrived in Denerim," said the messenger. "With the two Gray Wardens and their companions in his entourage." 

Oh, _shit_. They'd gone to the Dalish before the dwarves! I'd estimated all wrong! No time to peddle ranch dip or invent cocktails or throw a funeral for my bra. I'd steal something on my way out of the palace, pawn it, and get the hell out of Dodge. 

Anora's friendly hold on me tightened to a death grip.

"Thank you," she told the messenger. And then, once he'd trotted away, she added, "I see this news interests you. Rather too much. You don't need my trust? Very well. I can do without _your_ good opinion. I can't afford to have you roaming the city at a time like this. You will remain here, in the Palace, well-guarded but with every comfort. I suggest you do not try to escape."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****You might be thinking, "But I've seen what DA:Origins ladies look like without their clothes on, and they are wearing bras."
> 
> But I call shenanigans. There's just no way. The modern bra relies on technical innovation as much as it does on changes in fashion. 
> 
> *****If you don't know about the history of rubber, it's really grim. I'm thinking of the Belgian Congo in particular. Look into it if you feel like hating humanity forever. 
> 
> *****At this point, I'm anonymizing my protagonist on purpose. If it ever becomes really awkward, I'll give her a name or describe her appearance rather than contort the text around like a pretzel...but it's a fun challenge to avoid it.


	8. Chapter 8

"I need to see Teyrn Loghain," I told the knights that had been stationed on either side of my door. 

The knights ignored me. 

"Okay. Let me try a different question. How would I go about petitioning for an audience with Teyrn Loghain?" 

This time they looked at one another, having one of those wordless conversations that are so irritating to people who can't follow along. 

They weren't trying to be rude. In fact, they'd been pretty accommodating since they showed up. They'd trot me around the Palace grounds when I needed exercise and they'd even taken me to visit the library. Unfortunately, it turned out that while I could understand the language, the alphabet was unfamiliar. Since then, I'd been struggling through some children's books borrowed from the royal nursery. I'd eventually learn to read, but I doubted I'd ever be able to spell or write very well.

On the upside, since I had access to royal resources I'd been bathing twice a day. At this rate, I'd wash Howe's dungeon out of my system in another year or two.

"We'll take you to the seneschal," said one of the knights. "But you're not to speak to anyone, do you understand? Mouth shut and hands to yourself." 

"Got it."

They took me to a sort of waiting room where the seneschal presided over a crowd of nobles and bureaucrats. A few stood in little clumps, whispering at one another, but most had taken seats in the plush chairs lined up along the walls. Everyone present was well-dressed, most of them soft in a way that only comes from easy living, and irritated. I gave my name and sat down to wait, a knight to either side. Judging from the grumbling going on all around, Loghain and Anora had been closeted together with their advisors for most of the day and receiving very few visitors. 

Eavesdropping proved fruitful, however. The Warden had been busy since arriving in Denerim. The other petitioners discussed the firm yet non-violent way he'd dealt with rabble-rousing young nobles, the efficacy with which he'd dispatched bandits, his charm and gravity when he stopped in at the Gnawed Noble to relax.

I knew what the Warden got up to in Denerim, so only one element of these discussions surprised me. That one element, though? It was a doozy.

I had only ever played as a female Warden. I'd try out different races and backgrounds and classes, but I only play a male avatar when I have no choice about it. In Dragon Age, I'd never gotten past the character creation screen as a man. No male Wardens, no male Hawkes, no male Inquisitors. Not even once--not even for the LIs. 

If I were hallucinating, this Thedas would have been built out of my imagination. It would be a world that remained somehow under my control, even though I felt trapped in it. I've never had a "canon" Warden or a "canon" playthrough. A Warden I'd hallucinated might have choosen Caridin or Branka, brought the mages in to save Conor or straight-up killed the kid, cured the Werewolves or slaughtered them... I'd been ready for anything. Except a man.

A rumbling in the waiting room pulled me from my reverie. A sumptuously dressed, middle-aged woman was leaving and Loghain had walked her out. Everyone around me perked up, straightened their shoulders, scooted to the edge of their seats--all hoping to be noticed. 

Loghain scanned the room, pausing when his gaze landed on me. He whispered in the seneschal's ear, trying to point without being too obvious about it, and the seneschal fetched me forward, my two knights trailing behind. 

"Something's upset you," said Loghain, escorting me down the hallway. He was wearing his plate again, polished to a mirror shine. It made him look _gigantic_. And completely unapproachable.

"Yes." In a way, I felt just as lost and confounded as I had when I first arrived. Maybe more. A male Warden. I had no idea what that meant. 

Except that was a lie. I did know. It meant I was actually _in Thedas._ That this had never been a hallucination, no matter how hard I clung to the idea. It had always been real--real swords pointed at my real body, real threats and real desperation, real hunger gnawing at my belly.

We turned the corner and went up a flight of stairs, doubling back down a corridor that looked identical to the one below. Loghain gestured to the knights and ushered me into a small room, shutting the door behind us. A meeting room with a round table at the center, a bowl of fruit sitting on an embroidered runner for a centerpiece, and a window overlooking the city on the far side. 

"I'm sorry that you find yourself confined again, so soon after you thought yourself rescued," said Loghain, pitching his voice fairly low. "But I must defer to my daughter's judgment in this matter. She is the Queen, and--" 

"I haven't come to ask for my release," I interrupted. "I want to know if it would be possible to attend the Landsmeet." 

"Of course not," he said promptly. "Only voting members are allowed in. It's rowdy enough without observers adding to the chaos." 

I sighed. I'd find out what happened quickly enough--and, to be honest, if I'd failed and Alistair or the Warden ended up beheading him... I shuddered. I'd rather not be there to watch.

He grabbed my shoulder. His gauntlets made it impossible to be gentle--the metal joints pinched and pressed. "What aren't you telling me?"

I shook my head. I couldn't say. The closer we got to the Landsmeet, the more important it became that I keep my mouth shut. And what did I know? Maybe nothing. If I'd made one wrong assumption, I could have made others. What if I'd really messed things up? What if Loghain dueled and _won_ , and the Warden--or Alistair--ended up dead? The Blight would spread across the continent and it would be my fault.

"Something important is going to happen," he said.

I tried to twist away, but he took hold of my other shoulder and held me still.

"And you are..." Those ice-blue eyes searched me. "Frightened." 

_Dammit._ Dammit, dammit, dammit. 

"You can't be allowed to interfere."

"I don't want to interfere," I said. "It's fine. For the best, probably. Thank you for seeing me when you must be very busy."

His thumbs moved, sort of grinding into the meat of my shoulder. I think it was an unconscious gesture, not meant to hurt, but I winced all the same. 

"I'll put you on the balcony," he said. "As an observer, and no more. If you so much as _wink_ at anyone else, the Palace guards will drag you out and lock you in Fort Drakon. Do you understand?" 

I nodded.

"Good. It starts in an hour." And then, to my utter shock, he _kissed_ me. Pressed that hard slash of a mouth against mine, quick and decisive. "For luck," he explained, almost exuberantly. 

And then he was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The hairs on the back of my neck rose when the double doors leading into the audience chamber burst open and the Warden strode in, his companions fanning out behind him. It was--I don't know. Sometimes, when you see a picture of something over and over again, the reality of it is disappointing. I've had that happen when traveling. The Mona Lisa is hard to get excited about; that didn't surprise me. The Parthenon left me cold, and that _did_ surprise me. I'd been looking forward to it. 

The Warden and companions fell into the other category. The one where reality is the technicolor version of expectations which turn out, in retrospect, to have been plain old black-and-white. My legs turned to water and I had to grab hold of the banister to remain upright, almost dizzy with the sense of unreality that came over me.

You might be thinking that, because I'm so starry-eyed about Loghain, I must hate the "good guys". Not so. I don't hate any of the companions. There are a few, across all three games, who I wouldn't actively seek out as friends. That's the worst I can say. Most of them are more interesting and more fun than, you know, real people. They're designed that way.

Or... maybe they come by it naturally. It was eerie to see Leliana with babyfat still on her cheeks, knowing what she would become. Morrigan had absolutely _flawless_ skin and walked like Tyra Banks had been drilling her from birth. Sten's generalized disapproval radiated all the way across the room, while Ogren's infuriating inability to feel shame transformed into bravery when he was surrounded by hostile humans. Wynne was neat as a pin and so calm she could have been sitting down for afternoon tea, which--considering that I was a complete basketcase--really impressed me. Zevran slunk along in the back, graceful as a dancer, restless and watchful.

And Alistair... lord, but he was a strapping fellow. Handsome in a careless, virile way. His goatee was frankly ridiculous, proof--if anything--of how young he was. Barely a man at all. I was sorry to see him for the first time at the Landsmeet, when I knew he'd be at his worst. He was already stiff with anger, the muscles of his neck bulging and tense.

Eamon launched into his speech about preserving traditions, which he somehow equated with having freedom. I wondered how I'd ever thought he was a good guy when his whole schtick is 'blood over merit'. Harder to see when Loghain is failing all over the place, I guess.

I tuned Eamon out and studied the Warden. An elf, slim and broad-shouldered, wearing Andruil's _vallaslin_ and carrying a bow. So a Mahariel, if the game could be trusted. He had striking features. Long, narrow eyes--I couldn't gauge the color--and sculpted cheekbones. A high forehead and strong chin that, combined, made his face seem narrow. 

"Have you come to present a new candidate for King, Eamon?" Anora stood on the dais, flanked by her guards. She had presided over the session. Loghain had renounced the title of 'Regent' as the first order of business and kept silent ever since, his back to the wall and glaring indiscriminately. "A son of Maric's, you say. The resemblance _is_ striking, though I fear you have come to make prey of our hopes and griefs. I cannot believe that Maric's loyal friend and ally would have raised his true-born son in a stable. But we will put him to the vote." 

She did not sound concerned.

"We have come to end the Blight," announced the Warden in the smoothest, most resonant voice you can imagine. Mellow and velvety and sweet enough to charm birds out of trees. "We have come to remind you, and everyone else present, of what ought to be your first concern. The darkspawn advance. An archdemon commands the horde. And you have failed to act." 

The peanut gallery chimed in: refugees everywhere, the south lost, people frightened.

"The Blight is real, and it is a threat to us all," said Anora. "Speak on, Gray Warden. We value your expertise."

"Then why did you try to have us killed?" shouted Alistair. He pointed at Loghain. "Only Gray Wardens can end a Blight, but he sent an assassin after us!"

"After a group composed of an Orlesian bard, an apostate mage, a Qunari spy and a pretender to the throne?" Loghain barked out a harsh laugh. "Indeed I did."

An uneasy rumble spread through the audience.

"The Blight knows nothing of nations, nor of borders," said the Warden, drawing every ear with his first syllable. "We have taken help where it was given, and gladly. My companions come from every corner of the world, and my armies from every corner of Ferelden: I have gathered the my own people and the Dwarves, the Knights of Redcliffe and the mages of Kinloch Hold under a single banner. Together, united by a common enemy, we will save the world." 

Another murmur, this one more robust. Noises of agreement and enthusiasm. 

"And what would you have of us?" Anora asked.

"Pledge me your forces, as is your duty by ancient treaty," said the Warden.

"And get rid of Teyrn Loghain," Alistair added. "He fled the field at Ostagar! He abandoned the King and nearly wiped out the Wardens--he is a coward and a traitor!"

Loghain was watching Alistair like a hawk now, his brows bunching up. Anora opened her mouth to respond, but Loghain stepped forward and the clank of his armor made her turn. 

"Father," she warned. 

"He was there, and so he deserves an answer," said Loghain. "I argued against the tactics, I knew that numbers were against us, I asked Cailan to fight from a safer position--but you don't want my excuses. The battle was lost. As the army's General, I must bear the responsibility. Does failure make me a traitor?"

"You didn't charge!" Alistair shouted. "We lit the beacon--"

"Late," interrupted Loghain, stepping down from the dais. "You lit the beacon late, long after it might have done any good. So, with that in mind, I ask again: Does failure make me a traitor?"

Alistair pushed in front of the Warden, standing toe to toe with Loghain. "The Tower of Ishal was overrun by darkspawn!"

Loghain chuckled. "And so was the valley. Darkspawn, in their thousands. You saw them as well as I."

"You might have saved the King!" And then, because he couldn't help himself, Alistair added, "You might have saved Duncan!" 

"And you would have me throw away hundreds of lives on the _chance_ of saving the one that matters to you?" Loghain scoffed. "If that is how you would lead, then let us usher in this new era the way it is sure to end: with blood." 

In unison, he and Alistair reached for their swords. 

"Enough! You will stand down, Alistair!" The Warden grabbed Alistair and yanked him back amongst the companions. Then he looked, not to Loghain, but to Anora. "As must the Teyrn, Your Majesty. His failures have cost us too much. He has proven himself unfit, and I will not have him in my chain of command." 

"Agreed." Without even a glance at her father, Anora offered the Warden her hand. "You have my pledge, Gray Warden. All of Thedas is counting on us, and Ferelden will rise to the challenge. Together, we will end the Blight."

Everyone cheered. Well. Everyone but two. Loghain stood stiff and white on the floor of the hall, completely alone, his hands clenching and unclenching. Alistair had Oghren on one side and Wynne on the other, working together to hold him still and talk him down.

The Warden announced that the allied armies would gather at Redcliffe to prepare for the final battle. Anora promised to march at the head of her men. And Loghain shot me a single, hateful look before he turned and walked out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief gap until the next chapter. Still trying to figure out how to make the next stretch interesting, since my self-insert is (quite sensibly) a complete coward who wants to hide in a closet until the whole thing is over.

Anora invited the Warden and companions to meet privately after the assembled nobles had dispersed. They withdrew from the grand hall and I skulked along in their wake. Sort of. The two knights made skulking impossible and they kept trying to hustle me back to my room. I groused and delayed and bargained for so long that I was exhausted by the time the meeting ended.

The Warden and his companions filed out. No one paid me any mind except for Leliana, who noticed me immediately. I couldn't read anything in her blank, pretty features, though she kept flicking glances back at me until she'd passed out of sight. How had anyone mistaken _me_ for a bard? Leliana was on a different level entirely.

"You wished to speak with me?" Anora asked.

"Oh." I'd almost forgotten her. "Yes, actually. Unless I'm mistaken, there was a Gray Warden by the name of Riordan in Howe's dungeon. I don't know what happened to him, but if he's been transferred into your custody, you could earn a lot of goodwill with the Warden by releasing him." 

Anora considered this. "Does my father know?" 

"Not unless Riordan told him." I paused. "He's Orlesian, though, with a strong accent."

"I'll see to it personally," said Anora.

I turned to leave. 

"You seem pleased," she said, before I'd gone very far.

I looked back and shrugged. Lots of things could still go wrong.

Anora responded with a tight, close-mouthed smile. "Close enough."

I didn't want to return to my room, where I would be cooped up and alone and have no way to release all the energy buzzing through me. If I could have, I'd have gone in search of Loghain. He could probably use the company. But I'd had a hard enough time convincing my watchdog-knights to take me to the seneschal. No chance they'd show me to Loghain's private rooms.

And, too, I doubted that he wanted to see me. He didn't know he'd dodged a bullet. He didn't know that letting Anora take charge, accepting her commands, and admitting to fault instead of just making accusations were cause for celebration. This was his rock bottom, and he wouldn't thank me for telling him that he could have fallen much, much farther. 

As it happened, though, I didn't need to go looking. While walking down a path that overlooked a wide courtyard I heard an odd _thwack_. I searched about, trying to trace it. When it came again, I discovered the source: Loghain in faded leathers, bow in hand, shooting at a distant target.

I stopped to watch. If he was aware, he gave no sign of it. He emptied his quiver, marched over to the target--the bull's eye bristling like a porcupine--pulled out the arrows one by one and slotted them back into his quiver. Then he returned to his original spot and started again. Twilight was coming on, light fading by the minute, but he didn't stop until it was too dark to see the ring of chalked white.

I sighed and continued on. My route took me down the steps and alongside the yard. I kept my eye out for Loghain, prepared to offer a polite smile and wave as I passed--you know how sometimes you need to brace for that, setting your expression to _just_ the right level of casual? 

"Continue on to her room and wait there," said Loghain in his deep, rough voice, emerging from the gloom. "I'll escort her the rest of the way myself." 

He was talking to the knights. They saluted and marched on in lockstep, apparently unperturbed. 

"I took you for a sycophant at first," he said to me, as he slung the bow over one broad shoulder. "The sort who want to lay with me because they're dazzled by stories of the Rebellion. I've run into a few of those, over the years: hot for glory, hot for fame. Sometimes just hot for the bastard who spilled the most blood." 

Yeah, maybe a little. Ouch. 

"But I'm not the one who gets you going, am I?" His mouth twisted bitterly. "It's the _Warden_."

I started. "What?" 

"You're so besotted you didn't see me looking," he continued. "But _I_ saw _you_. Wide-eyed and gaping, knuckles white on the banister. Falling apart at the mere sight of him."

Man, Loghain was really good at making a person feel like shit, wasn't he? Like my amazement had been shameful. A dirty secret I ought to have kept hidden.

"He's the one you've been waiting for all along, isn't he? Worrying for him and _working_ for him. Befriending me to ease his way."

A warning bell clanged in my mind. Loghain was lashing out at me, but this wasn't _about_ me. After a lifetime of being the best, he wasn't good enough. He'd failed, and instead of being forgiven he'd become a scapegoat. The man once trusted above all others, the power behind the throne, had been set aside. By his own daughter. In favor of a stranger.

That would have to sting.

I reached for his hand. He flinched away, but I was quick and determined and I managed to grab it. I held it tight between both of my own, squeezing the hard callus and slick scar tissue, dense muscle and wiry tendon. 

"What are you doing?" His voice was so thick with contempt I could have frosted a cake with it. "Is this supposed to _mean_ something?" 

It was harder because he wasn't wrong. I _would_ help the Warden, especially if things started to turn against him. I _did_ want the Warden to win, to slay the Archdemon and end the Blight and become the Hero of Ferelden.

"Yes. It means I'm here for you," I said. And then, because it was true, "Now would be a good time to test out the rest of my advice."

Loghain made another solid attempt at yanking his hand free, lip curling into a sneer.

"Okay, okay, nevermind." I held on tight, though. I liked touching him. "I want to tell you something, and I am not just being polite and I am not spouting platitudes. Will you listen?" 

"Will you _let go_?"

"Fair trade." I let my arms drop to my sides and spoke slowly, enunciating every word. " _This is the best possible thing that could have happened._ "

He responded with an inarticulate noise of disgust-- _Pah!_ or _Bah!_. Either way, instant dismissal. 

So much for that. "You might as well walk me back to my room." 

He motioned me to his side and led the way. Neither of us spoke. It was tempting to believe that I'd seen my experiment through to the end. The Landsmeet was over and Loghain had done well, with precious little help from me. 

But I didn't think the test was over. I mean, this is Dragon Age--true tests never end, right? And the loose threads weren't hard to spot. Alistair had been angry, eager for a confrontation, but the Warden had been focused. He wanted to end the Blight, and anything else--like the succession--could wait.

From a strategic standpoint, they didn't have much choice. With my help, Loghain had pocketed most of the points they could have scored if the Landsmeet had followed the game template. But if they waited until after the Archdemon had been slain, if Alistair marched out of Fort Drakon as a savior--Maric the savior reborn--and demanded a vote? He'd win handily. 

In all likelihood, I hadn't saved Loghain. I'd only postponed the inevitable. 

I'd never understood the way Alistair acts during and after the Landsmeet. Not just his attitude about Loghain, but _everything._ Quitting the Wardens if Loghain is spared, as though he knows nothing about the Order and how the vast majority of members are recruited. Dumping a Cousland Warden if she doesn't make a beeline for the throne. Insisting that a Warden without the right background can only be a _mistress_. 

And what I couldn't understand, I wouldn't be able to maneuver around. 

We reached the cloister where I'd been quartered. With my door in view and the knights' armor glinting in the moonlight, Loghain paused. 

"The best possible thing that could have happened," he said.

I nodded. 

"Because"--he swallowed--"I would order another rout? Am I doomed to lead my people to failure?" 

"No." But of course that's what he would imagine. What he would fear. "Absolutely _not_."

He released the breath he'd been holding in a sudden whoosh. 

I decided to cheat a little--it seemed like a good time, and some things I couldn't justify keeping to myself. "Just the opposite, I hope. This turn of events is new to me. I don't know how it will play out. But you'll be here, after Anora leads the Army to Redcliffe. Isn't that right?"

He nodded. 

"Don't let her leave the city undefended."

I felt his eyes on the back of my head like a pair of red hot lasers trying to burn a hole through my skull those last few steps to my room.


	11. Chapter 11

I saw the Warden and company ride through the front gates of the Palace the next day and scampered after them to rubberneck. They'd probably come to discuss troop movements or supply lines or whatever. I wasn't important enough to get a briefing about it. 

I settled down nearby with a children's book and the key that I'd worked up. I'd divided a sheet of blank paper into two columns and listed out the letters of the Common alphabet in one column and their equivalents in the Roman alphabet in the other. It was slow going and hard on the ego; I was working on lip-reading instead of sounding the words out aloud, to contain the embarrassment. 

Eventually they all emerged from their strategy session, milling about and talking quietly. Leliana, again, noticed me immediately. Morrigan made a show of impatience. Mahariel--if he was a Mahariel--was locked in a whispered conversation with Anora and a sad-faced bearded man. 

Anora pointed at me. The sad-faced bearded man shook his head, said something. Mahariel peered at me curiously. 

Leliana drifted over. "You look so peaceful sitting over here. I envy you, relaxing in the sunshine on such a fine morning. What are you reading?" 

"Um." I showed her the cover, which featured a cartoon of a dog standing atop a rugged hilltop, backlit by the sunset. "The Adventures of Buster the Mabari." 

"How nice!" Leliana gushed. She sounded completely sincere, too. "You must have young children. What are their names?" 

"No, no children." 

"Then you are working to better yourself. That is quite admirable." _Damn._ She didn't even miss a beat. "Do you work here at the Palace?" 

"Sort of. I'm a prisoner."

Take a swing at _that_ curveball, Leliana. 

"Well, you can't have done anything too awful, I think. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, enjoying the day and letting me pester you with questions." She laughed and gave me a friendly nudge, her clear blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "None of us are perfect, and we must forgive one another in order to find peace within ourselves. That's what I believe."

"Very wise." I looked meaningfully at Alistair, who'd joined Anora and Mahariel, and looped an arm around the sad-faced bearded man. "Though perhaps there's someone else who needs to hear that message more than I do." 

"That's right!" Leliana clapped her hands together, all girlish excitement. "You were at the Landsmeet yesterday! I saw you standing up on the balcony. No wonder you look familiar. Are prisoners often invited to such important gatherings in Ferelden?" 

Wow. That was rather cutting. Yet still, somehow, guileless and friendly. She was seriously on point.

I would have happily sat around chatting with Leliana all day, just to see how many conversational grenades she could defuse before she gave up, but Mahariel called her back and led the companions away, their business at the Palace concluded. 

Anora joined me. "You didn't recognize Riordan?" 

"Oh!" I should have. "The man with the beard, was that him?"

"It was," she confirmed. "He'd spent months in Howe's dungeon before being transferred to Fort Drakon. And yet he insisted that he'd never met you before. Curious." 

"I'm glad he's all right. I was worried," I said. "The elf Warden--does he have a name?" 

"Sovel Mahariel," she answered. "And he was very pleased to be reunited with Riordan. So was Warden Alistair. Both of them have warmed to me considerably since yesterday, just as you thought they would."

"Glad to hear it! Now how about releasing me?"

"I ought to consult with my father first." She smirked when my face fell. "You still wish to leave Ferelden?" 

I nodded. 

"Such a shame," she said, very blandly. "Good afternoon and I hope you enjoy... is that Buster the Mabari?" 

"Sure is." 

"I believe I read that when I was... very young. Well. Sometimes we are all children at heart."

I found out later that the army would march in two days, and that Anora planned to travel with Warden Mahariel and his companions in the vanguard. This did not bode well for my chances of escaping Denerim before the big battle.

Indeed, trying to pin down anyone who held any responsibility whatsoever proved impossible. Every single person in the Palace, from the cook to the Queen, was frantically packing carts or making lists or calculating stores. One of my two knights was pressed into service elsewhere, but I may as well have been invisible. 

Once the army had moved out, I managed to intercept Loghain. 

"I think you can release me now," I said, trotting along at his side while he strode purposefully... somewhere. Presumably preparing for disaster with a skeleton crew kept him on his feet a lot. 

"No." 

"Why not? I thought you'd be glad to get rid of me. I'm a two-faced meddler, remember?"

"Yes."

Man, we were really back to square one, weren't we?

"I'll only get in the way here at the Palace," I cajoled. "You don't want that. Better for everyone if I clear on out." 

"I disagree." 

I huffed and grabbed his elbow, yanking him to a halt. "If you won't let me leave, at least find me a good hiding spot. I don't want to die. I can't defend myself. _Please._ "

He stared at me like I was a poisonous snake. 

"You'll have more important things to think about soon," I said. "It has to be now." 

"You think the _Palace_ is unsafe?" he bit out.

"The whole city will be overrun."

"The whole city," he repeated flatly. 

"Um..." Should I not have said that? I probably shouldn't have said that.

"Hessarian's bloody sword." He leaned in and hissed, "And you wait until _now_ to warn me?" 

"I'm an unreliable stranger making mysterious pronouncements. You shouldn't be listening to me at all."

A muscle in his eyelid twitched.

"Find your own damn hiding spot," he snarled, and stalked off. 

"That's very rude!" I called after him.

He gave me the finger without turning back. 


	12. Chapter 12

I ended up on top of a cistern with a spear. I was almost 100% going to die, yes, but I was kind of proud of myself. The cistern--you know, a big water tank?--was tall and narrow and the only way onto the roof was by ladder, so I figured I might be able to spear the darkspawn while they climbed? I'd get at least a couple of them from up here, for sure. 

My guard-knight had procured the spears and climbed up with me. Once we got word that the darkspawn horde was headed right for Denerim, he'd become downright helpful. He seemed to think that his chances of survival were better hiding in the Palace with me than out on the front lines. Probably true, but I'm not sure they added up to _actually surviving_ either way. 

The city was... ready-ish. I guess nobody's ever ready for a gigantic fire-breathing dragon and an army of disease-spreading monstrosities, but Loghain had made good use of the advance notice. He and Cauthrien had evacuated whole neighborhoods, torn down buildings to create fire breaks and used the rubble to build barricades to funnel the invaders into kill zones, positioned men where they could do the most good and organized volunteers.

I knew that the Warden and crew would arrive in time to save the day. Hopefully this way they'd have more to save. 

"I know you're up there," shouted Loghain. "I can see your foot hanging over the side." 

I scrambled around and peeked over. He was standing at the base of the ladder in his plate, shield strapped to his back and sword belted around his waist, with his hands cupped around his mouth so he could shout up at me.

"Good luck!" I called down. He planned to fight, of course. Not enough trained soldiers in the city to do otherwise, even if he'd wanted to.

"Thank you!" he shouted back. "Now come down!" 

I froze. I did not want to do my duty or pitch in or anything even vaguely useful but self-sacrificial. Sitting on the cistern was bad enough. 

"That's an order!" he shouted, which prompted my knight to poke me with his spear. 

"No loyalty at all," I groused, shooting a nasty glance at him and rubbing my backside. Then I swung myself onto the ladder and climbed down. 

"This _is_ loyalty, serrah," said my knight, following behind. "Just not to you." 

"You're needed at the West Gate," Loghain told him. "They've asked for reinforcements. Tell them I sent you." 

My knight saluted and trotted off to die. Poor guy. 

"Come along," said Loghain, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the Palace proper. The grounds were eerily deserted--all the guards who would ordinarily be scattered about like potted plants had been sent out into the city to fight. Most everyone else, employees and hangers on, had been given leave to seek shelter where they could. "We don't have much time." 

"I thought they were hours away!" 

"The main body of the horde, yes. But the advance guard will arrive any minute."

"Where are we going?" 

"To _hide_ ," he said, sounding disgusted. "Isn't that what you want?" 

"We all have our strengths," I said. "I've never been in a fight in my life. I doubt this is the time to start." 

"No, probably not." He shouldered a massive set of wooden doors open and led me toward a spiral staircase. "Is that by choice, or a matter of custom?" 

"Hand to hand fighting is pretty rare where I come from. Some people learn it for sport, but not for war." I paused, frowning. "I've always thought myself pretty worldly, but you might call me sheltered."

"Then perhaps you ought to seize the opportunity to experience a bit of rough weather?" More doors, a corridor, and then he was guiding me through a large living area, more lavish than anything I'd seen previously. Tapestries on the walls, gilding on the furniture. Loghain glanced back at me and said, "There are several bolt holes in the royal quarters. Nobody using them right now." 

I didn't quite know what to say to that. 

Through a couple smaller rooms, couches and fireplaces and little keepsakes scattered about, and then we entered a huge bedroom. Massive bed that could fit five with room to spare and acres of velvet curtains hanging from the canopy, giant-sized wardrobe, and... mirrors on every wall. Great big mirrors with huge gilded frames. I tried to calculate how much a single mirror that size would cost, given the level of technology here in Ferelden; the presence of so many boggled my mind.

Loghain's hand tightened on mine. He'd tucked his gauntlets into his belt, but he still squeezed hard enough to make my bones crunch. I knew why before he spoke--those mirrors!--but his expression shocked me. He kept his face turned toward the wall, his eyes on the ground, his profile all nose and frowning white lips. 

"Cailan's room," he said, Adam's apple working.

He took a deep breath before he began to fiddle with the stonework on the wall, eventually locating a mechanism that clicked open a hidden door. It swung open, stone grinding, and revealed a closet-sized cubbyhole. A lit lantern stood in one corner, a basket of food in the other, a blanket folded over the handle. 

Had he brought the food? The lamp and the blanket? Who else could have done it? Everyone was gone.

"The locks are dwarven make. Once I close the door, it will only open from the inside. The lever is here--do you see? Pull it when you're ready. I'm not going to share the secret of the lock, so once you open the door, you won't be able to close it again. Stay inside until you're certain it's safe to come out." 

"Thank you."

"No, thank _you._ When reports of the darkspawn advance began to arrive, I realized how much faith you had shown in me. And for what little cause. You have seen me at my worst, never at my best, and still you maneuvered me into a position of grave responsibility." He let go of my hand and his fingers trailed up my arm and over my shoulder, to just inside my collar. He grazed the bare skin there before he let go, as though burned. "I hope your faith is not misplaced." 

"We're all more than the worst thing we've ever done," I told him. "And less than the best." 

"The latter, at least, I know to be true." He stepped back smartly. "I hope we meet again." 

I nodded soberly. "Me too."

I stepped into the hidey hole. The door shut, leaving me with only the dim lantern for light. I sat down on the floor, wrapped myself in the blanket, and waited for the heroes to do their thing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heading towards endgame. One or two chapters to go. The skeleton is drafted, so not a long wait.

It was quiet in the bolthole--boring, actually--until a huge concussive _boom_ made my eardrums pop and shook the Palace like a treehouse in a strong wind. 

The Archdemon was dead.

I'd been too wound up to sleep during the long wait, though I'd long since reached that jittery, loopy state of exhaustion where every idiotic thought I had seemed brilliant or hilarious or both. The thought of opening the door and finding myself face to face with a darkspawn _after_ the Archdemon had died cracked me up. And kept me in the cubbyhole--I huddled in my blanket and dozed a bit. 

A woman with a pretty, French-ish accent woke me. "You can come out now! It's safe!"

I rubbed my eyes and pulled the lever, then flinched away from the mid-morning sunlight.

A very lovely elf waited for me in Cailan's room. Dark hair, big eyes, dainty, a bit affected. Erlina, I supposed, and she was disgustingly clean and put together. Not what I wanted to see when I'd been peeing into an empty milk bottle.

"What happened?" I asked. 

"The archdemon is dead!" she exclaimed. 

"I know _that_. What about the rest--how did it happen? Who delivered the killing blow?" I wrinkled my nose. "And could I clean up a little? Maybe while you fill me in?" 

Erlina huffed, but she shooed me into a bathing chamber, spacious, with copper fixtures and a nice big tub. She opened up the faucet and left to fetch soap and a towel while it filled. I peeled off my clothes and poked my finger in the water repeatedly, even though it kept burning me. Eventually Erlina came back and she added more cold to the hot, so I could climb in and start scrubbing.

"Warden Mahariel sacrificed himself to kill the Archdemon--" Erlina began. 

"He's dead?" I interrupted. "Sacrificed" sounded pretty final.

"Yes, he died with the beast," Erlina answered. 

So no dark ritual. What a shame.

"In fact," she continued, "the two Gray Wardens fought about who would make the final blow. Warden Riordan leapt atop the dragon's back and tore its wings, grounding it high up on the roof of Fort Drakon. He died for his valor, but everyone left standing followed Warden Mahariel to the roof to battle the beast--riddling it with arrows, crippling it with magic, beating back the waves of darkspawn it called to its aid. As the Archdemon thrashed and belched fire in its desperate last moments, the Gray Wardens prepared to kill it. Both Warden Alistair and Warden Mahariel wanted the honor--" 

Alistair must have liked this Mahariel a lot, to be so insistent about it. I had too, what little I saw of him. He'd had charisma. 

"--so Warden Mahariel ordered Teyrn Loghain to restrain Warden Alistair--" 

I paused my scrubbing. "Teyrn Loghain was there?"

"Oh, yes. He joined the Hero and his companions in the market, after Warden Alistair killed one of the great darkspawn generals."

"But why Loghain?" I asked. "Why not... I don't know, Sten--the Qunari? He must have been there." 

"I don't know." Erlina's pretty face crumpled. "We'll never know. He is dead, and cannot answer any questions."

I finished washing and reached for a towel. 

"Let me find you a fresh set of clothes," Erlina said. "You can't wear dirty laundry to the ceremony. It will start soon, with the lighting of Warden Mahariel's pyre."

Erlina slipped out but didn't shut the door all the way behind her. Muffled shouts leaked through the crack, and the voices were familiar. Anora and Loghain were fighting. I cinched the towel around the top of my breasts and crept close to eavesdrop.

"He wants your head!" Anora shouted. 

"And so you'll take his?" Loghain shouted back. 

"If that's what I have to do--" 

"Nobody's forcing you. Don't make excuses," Loghain snapped. "It would be a mistake, Anora. A terrible mistake. Find another way." 

A door farther down the hall swung violently open and Loghain stormed through, slamming it shut behind him. He was more casually dressed than I'd ever seen him, wearing brown trousers and a long-sleeved linen shirt thin enough for the thick white bandages crisscrossing his chest to show through. 

I knew it was time to tiptoe out of his line of sight, but instead I stood in the half-open door, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. 

So he saw me and prowled over--not at all like a man who'd been injured--still crackling from the fight. "Overhear anything interesting?" 

"You're alive!" I blurted, bouncing up on my toes. 

One corner of his mouth quirked up. "So it seems." 

I traced the edge of a bandage that wound round his biceps. This was, hands-down, the least convincing smooth move I had ever attempted. I did it anyway. What the hell. The Archdemon was dead. I bet everyone who'd felt the creature's passing felt a little braver than they had the day before. "Not too badly hurt, I hope?" 

I glanced up, and... he was not looking at my face. 

My stomach flipped. His eyes--the pupils so dilated I could hardly see the blue, except as a thin ring round the edge--rose and then he looked past me, to the bathing chamber and the tub. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath. 

A delicate little _ahem_ alerted us to Erlina's return. 

"I'll leave you to dress," said Loghain. "But I'd like to speak with you, before the ceremony starts." 

"Of course." 

"I'll be in the salon--just there, you see the door?"

I nodded and Erlina bustled forward, herding me back into the bathing chamber. She shut the door very firmly, and while she didn't _say_ anything I had the very strong impression that she disapproved. And that, in short order, Anora would know all about my temptress ways and also disapprove. Served her right, though. If she hadn't been so insistent about keeping me here in the Palace, I'd be using them on someone else by now.

Once all my buttons were buttoned, Erlina braided my hair and pinned it up in a sort of milkmaid crown. I thanked her and made my way to the salon, where I found Loghain standing in front of a large map of Ferelden, unrolled across a table. 

"What's this I hear about you and Warden Alistair?" I asked. I briefly pictured Alistair writhing manfully in Loghain's arms, but it was really not a sexy image when I'd actually met the guy who died. Or almost met him. Been in the same room, and thought well of him. 

He looked up from the map, his finger still glued to Ostagar. "News travels fast."

"It's a curious turn of events." 

"But easy enough to explain. I hadn't been sure of the boy's parentage. Believe it or not, I don't put much weight in Eamon's word. It means less than nothing, in my experience. Certainly Alistair _looks_ like Maric, but wishful thinking can trick the eye. Once I saw him fight, though, I knew it for truth. Templar training or no, he's Maric's boy." Loghain paused. "I watched one of Maric's sons throw his life away for glory. I wasn't going let it happen twice." 

"And Mahariel figured this out somewhere between the market district and Fort Drakon?" 

Loghain chuckled. "He was a perceptive fellow, to wrangle that band of misfits for a year. A lesser man would have had a hard time preventing them from throttling one another at a dinner table; he made a brutally effective war machine out of them."

I slumped. What a rotten deal. Blighted and torn from his people, promised to a new group just in time to see them slaughtered, then sent to die in the most horrific way possible. And yet he'd _chosen_ to die--Morrigan must have made her offer. I wondered if that made it easier or harder, at the last. 

"And now that your curiosity is sated, I have a question." 

"All right."

He propped his hip on the table, folded his arms over his chest. The pose flattered his figure--wide shoulders, sturdy hips, power in every line--but his expression settled into a sort of blank mask, eyes hooded. "Tell me what you know about Maric. Everything that happened to him after he sailed from Denerim." 

"Oh, _that_ question." I'd promised him one. I guess the time had come to collect. "I'll tell you what I can, but I need to warn you, first of all, not to get your hopes up. There are a lot of reasons--" 

"Get on with it," he snapped, his index finger ticking against his biceps. 

"All right. Well. Maric is alive--"

Loghain jolted and his face, already bone-white, paled even further. "You're certain?" 

"I"m certain," I said. "But that doesn't mean he can be saved. There's a window of opportunity for a rescue, and it's closing. It might already have closed; I know _what_ happens to him, but not _when_. There are others looking for Maric, and once they find him, things start looking grim."

"Seek him, find him-- _where_?"

"Antiva City. In a prison owned by the Crows. After the prison the next stop is a grove or a swamp..." I hadn't really read the comics, so I wasn't the font of information I might have been. "And then he ends up in Tevinter."

"A swamp? Where in Tevinter--it's a huge country!" 

"I'm sorry. The swamp has a name, but I don't remember it. There's a corner of it called the Silent Grove, but I doubt you'd find it on any map. One of Flemeth's daughters lives there. Maric was on his way to meet her."

"Flemeth?" Loghain held up his hand, palm out. "No, don't explain. You'll have to come with me."

I blinked.

He cocked one thin, crooked eyebrow and pitched his voice for maximum disdain. "You have somewhere better to be?" 

I scowled. "Not really." 

"Then it's settled. And just in time--the ceremony is about to start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** It _is_ canon that fighting with Alistair convinces Loghain that he's Maric's son. Wouldn't it be nice if he could have that realization at a more opportune moment?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered so many different ways to end this story. Something surprising? Something canon-compliant? Something grimly realistic? All three? 
> 
> And then I decided, aww, fuck it. It's going to end the way I want it to end. It's my story, and I want a happy ending. So there.
> 
> One more chapter after this, wrapping up the protag's story. Credits roll on the Origins/Blight stuff here, though.

The pyre was an effigy. Apparently someone had convinced the powers that be to transport Mahariel's actual body back to the Dalish for a traditional burial. While the fire burned, all the companions gave speeches--Wynne praised Mahariel's wisdom, Alistair his strong leadership, Leliana his charm. I was, uh, crying by the end. So was everyone else, though.

The pyre had been raised in the upper courtyard of the Palace district so everyone who wanted to could attend. So many people gathered that every window and roof had been converted into a viewing station, while children sat on a parent's shoulder or lined up along the balustrades. 

The more _exclusive_ gathering afterwards, in the Landsmeet chamber, quickly took on a different tone. Eyes dried quickly. Guests clumped into factions--some around Alistair, some around Anora. Everyone seemed to be speaking in a whisper. The dispute that Mahariel had kept simmering on the back burner was ready to boil over. 

Anora stepped onto the dais, chin raised proudly and one hand up, calling for order. An angry buzzing spread through the chamber in a wave, rising to a crescendo and then fading into silence. 

"In Ferelden--indeed, all of Thedas--this day has been set aside for mourning and celebration. For marveling at all that has been lost, all that has been won." Anora made a gesture, a low flourish with her palm up, that encompassed everyone in the Landsmeet chamber. "But you and I know that we must look to the future, if there is to be one at all. As quickly--as heroically--as we defeated this Blight, it has left the country in disorder." 

This time, the reaction was partisan. Encouraging murmurs from one side, discontented muttering from the other. 

"Warden Alistair has asked to address the assembly. Warden Alistair?" Anora reached out to him. "Will you come forward?" 

Alistair appeared extremely uncomfortable with this offer. He took a couple steps toward the dais, then stopped again. The direction of his thoughts was readily apparent when he shifted to position his back to the wall. 

"Here's just fine," he called. "Can I--" 

"One moment," Anora interrupted. "As one of the heroes of the day, you deserve a proper introduction. You have distinguished yourself by your loyalty to your Order and your leader, by your valor in battle, by your courage in the face of insurmountable odds. In honor of your brave deeds, I confer upon you the title of Arl of Denerim." 

Silence. Not even a single clap. Everyone listening knew that Anora was Up To Something. 

"You have proven yourself to be, in every way, a true son of Maric Theirin. As one who doubted your heritage before this very same company, let me be the first to acknowledge you--and to raise you to your rightful place as a Prince of the realm." Anora let this sink in for a moment, and then she delivered her final sally. "In fact, I propose that you be made heir to the throne. It would please me, as one who has honored the line of Calenhad from birth, if the succession passed directly from you to any heirs of your body, bypassing my own."

Anora smiled sweetly and offered her hand to Alistair again. "Prince Alistair. The floor is yours." 

Whether the nobles of Ferelden were pleased by Anora's peacemaking or impressed by her political maneuvering, there was no question that the reaction to her announcement was positive. A few claps, many smiles (both delighted and shrewd), contented noises. And Loghain--he watched his daughter with the private, fond smile and glowing eyes of a proud papa.

Alistair, on the other hand, floundered. He blushed terribly--embarrassed or frustrated, I couldn't tell. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, which provoked a chuckle or two. I hoped someone paid attention to who had laughed, so they could be chased down and slapped at a later date. 

But mostly, I hoped Alistair would accept the olive branch. He might still want Loghain's head, but killing the man who'd saved not only the capital but his own life would kick his reign off to a grim start. And after the Queen offered him honors, riches, and power? He'd have a rough time getting clear of the stink.

"Gray Wardens can't hold titles," he said lamely. 

"You have slain an Archdemon. Surely the Gray Wardens are not so churlish as to ask more of you." Anora's smile turned sharp. "Accept my offer and, should they try, we will persuade them to see reason." 

Alistair looked desperately at Eamon, who was _furious._ I mean seeing-red, spitting-nails, kill-them-all-then-raise-them-as-zombies-so-he-could-kill-them-again _furious._

"If you'd like some time to think about it," I said, surprising myself by speaking up, "there's an important mission to undertake, one that concerns you. It will take a few months. By the time you're back in Denerim, you'll know your own mind."

Alistair frowned. "Who are you?"

Welp. Good question, Alistair! 

"I have the details," said Loghain. "If you like, we can discuss them privately." 

"You?" Alistair recoiled. "I'm not going anywhere with _you_."

But it was clear that he didn't plan to make a bid for the crown, either, and the petulance of his last reply effectively ended the assembly. The nobles fragmented back into clumps and talk started up again, excited and lively. Loghain went to Anora, hopefully to say something nice. She deserved it. 

"So," said Leliana, appearing with disconcerting suddenness at my side. "A prisoner, are you?" 

I grinned. "Recently released."

"And already meddling in affairs of state." She narrowed her eyes at me. "What is this so-secret mission you propose for Alistair? Does the Queen think she is subtle, heaping honors upon him with one hand while whisking him away with the other, perhaps to disappear forever?" 

"If you're interested in the mission, maybe you should convince Alistair to ask Loghain about it," I suggested. "You could probably come along, if you wanted. Alistair ought to have a few allies he trusts nearby."

Leliana left without further reply, but a little while afterward Alistair _did_ ask Loghain about the mission. The room had begun to thin out, so Loghain convinced Alistair to follow him to one of the smaller, more private rooms deeper in the Palace. I tagged along--so did a few of the companions, and Anora. 

"All right," said Alistair, at his most skeptical. "What's this mission?"

"We've received reliable intelligence that Maric is still alive," said Loghain. "Somewhere in Antiva. I'll be leaving the city soon to search for him."

"Maric." Alistair snorted. "Why should I care? He never came looking for me, and I wasn't very far away." 

"You don't have to love him to want to help," I said. "I daresay you'd be tempted to join if it were a stranger in need of rescue. This way, you'll have the chance to meet your father. If you've been saving up any choice comments..."

"Who _are_ you?" Alistair repeated. 

"A friend," said Loghain, which made my heart flutter. 

"I'm surprised you have any," snapped Alistair. 

"So am I, sometimes," he replied, unruffled. "I'll be leaving as soon as I can make ready. A few days, a week at the most. Think on it. The invitation stands."

And then he gestured to me. "Are you coming?" 

"Coming where?" 

He raised his eyebrows. 

I leaned over to Alistair and said, "You should definitely go," before trotting after Loghain. 

But Anora trailed us both, and as soon as we wouldn't be overheard she hissed, "You stop right this instant!" 


	15. Chapter 15

Oh, Anora. Mad as a wet cat and still she only moved at a stately walk. Have to admire that kind of bone-deep dignity.

"Whoever concocted this story is a malicious liar," Anora announced. "Maric is dead. Anyone trying to make you believe otherwise only means you harm. You are a strong man, Father, but your weaknesses are _well-known._ "

"My time is my own," said Loghain. "If I choose to fritter it away in useless endeavors, then I'll finally have something in common with all the other nobles in Ferelden." 

"I forbid it." Strong words, but there was a catch in her voice. A little tremble that even her perfect discipline couldn't erase. She truly feared for him. "I am your liege and I will not allow you to abandon your country--now, of all times!--to embark on a wild goose chase." 

"Then I will disobey," Loghain replied calmly.

Anora turned on me. "You are the source of this wild fantasy, are you not? Explain yourself. What proof do you have? Have you _seen_ Maric?" 

"Um... sort of." 

"That's a _no._ " Anora huffed out a brief, frustrated sigh. "Do you remember what you told me after you encountered this woman for the first time, Father? 'A madwoman spouting delusional nonsense,' you said. 'Clearly unbalanced.'" 

"Yeah, if only we could go back to the good old days when Loghain was a paranoid wreck and you were terrified of him," I drawled. "I am _such_ a bad influence." 

Anora's brows went flat as a level. "I see that lenient treatment has made you bold. A mistake I plan to correct."

"I know you mean well, Anora..." Loghain began.

I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye and focused on that, letting the father-daughter spat wash over me. For a few seconds nothing, then Leliana's face peeked out from around the corner.

I winked at her. 

She snapped back out of sight. 

"She hasn't been wrong yet--" Loghain was saying, which caught my attention.

"I haven't, have I?" I interrupted. "Which is why it's _so odd_ that you've repeatedly ignored my most important piece of advice--"

"A mistake I plan to rectify shortly." He said this with a completely straight face. Like, he could have been talking about crop yields or tariff rates. I had never been more impressed in my life.

I beamed. "Really?" 

He cocked an eyebrow. "I take it you approve?"

"What advice is this?" Anora demanded.

"Just a bit of daily self-care," I answered. "Can't take care of others if you won't take care of yourself." 

Loghain snorted. 

Anora rubbed at her temple. "At the very least, Father, consider sending someone else."

"There's a good chance that once we find Maric, we won't be able to do much more than say a few final words before he dies," I told her. "It's not much, but I'm sure we've all wanted that chance." 

That silenced her. I wondered what her last words to Cailan had been, and if she regretted them. 

"We'll speak later." Anora slumped, suddenly human. And tired, worn down by an endless parade of war and death and fear. "It's been a long day." 

Alone again, I followed Loghain down the hall. We weren't returning to the royal apartments, and I wondered where he was taking me.

"We've all wanted that chance," Loghain quoted. "Even you?"

I hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to _anyone_ before I arrived in Thedas. I could hardly bear to think about what was happening back home--how much time had passed, what my friends and family thought had become of me. "Especially me."

We continued on in silence until Loghain opened the door to the room where I'd first appeared--the sofa, the fancy chairs, the window. I hadn't been here since I arrived and entering it again was like being thrown back in time. I remembered how frightened I'd been, appearing suddenly in a place where I _did not belong._ Because I belonged in my bedroom back home, in the life I'd made for myself, which I had mostly liked.

"You've changed your mind," Loghain said, roughly. 

"No..." I shook myself. When had I stopped hoping, at every turn, that I'd find a way to leave Thedas? When was the last time I'd really _thought_ of home, or wished I could be there? Days, at least. Adaptation is normal, I reminded myself. It's a coping mechanism. But I still felt like a wretch.

Loghain wrapped his arms around me, gently and with many hesitations, obviously expecting me to push him away. When I didn't, he nestled me close and fit my head under his chin. He was warm, solid as a brick wall, exactly what I needed.

"You never did explain how you got here," he said. 

"It's a crazy story. I don't even believe it." 

"And you came to deliver a message?" He paused. "I don't care what you intended, then. I just want to know the truth." 

"That's just it," I said. "I didn't intend anything. Thedas wasn't real to me. Just stories--I paid attention because it was _fun_. So I made a stupid joke..."

Though maybe not stupid, after all. Sleep had done him a world of good. I'd been wrong about the sex. He was fine without it. Though he'd called me a friend, hadn't he? Maybe he'd needed a friend more than a lover.

"My advice. About sleep and sex. But then I _appeared_ here. Instantaneously. And you walked through the door and pointed a sword at me." 

"You're right." Loghain sounded disappointed. "It's a crazy story." 

"At first I thought I was dreaming," I said. "But lately I wonder if some... I don't know, some _god_ took me up on my bet. But the game's over now. I think I won. And I don't know what happens next." 

"You won?"

"Pretty spectacularly, I'd say." 

"And this..." His arms tightened painfully around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. "This is part of the bet? This is how you _win_?"

"It could have been anyone," I reminded him. "Remember the prostitutes?" 

"Why offer yourself at all, then?" 

"Because I wanted it to be me." 

The tension leaked out of him in a long breath, warm on my scalp, ruffling the fine hairs that had slipped loose from Erlina's braid. One of his hands roamed northwards. 

"I might disappear again. This might be what triggers it." I sounded vague to my own ears; dreamy. I didn't really want to be talking. I wanted to twist around and let _my_ hands do some roaming.

He was nudging at me now, lipping my ear and squeezing my hip, but he still sounded uneasy when he replied, "You mean that." 

I nodded. "I might vanish tomorrow. I might be here forever. I have no idea." 

"Then we'll make the most of the time we have."

FIN

_Two epilogues. Take your pick._

EPILOGUE #1: 

_This is how I'd originally planned to end the story._

I woke up the next morning feeling delicious. Pleasantly sore in all the right places, smiling before I even opened my eyes. The mattress was firmer than I remembered, the pillow fluffier. Everything is delightful if you're in the mood to see it that way, a thought which made me feel a bit smug.

Then I opened my eyes and sat up and realized that the sheets were soft because they were made of high thread count cotton made in a modern textile mill, and the pillows were fluffy because they were full of cruelty-free synthetic foam, and I was sitting naked in my bed back home--on Earth. 

I threw the sheets off and looked at myself. Redness on the inside of my thighs, where the skin had been rubbed raw by scratchy stubble. Soreness. Pale purple bruises on the inside of my wrists. I had _definitely_ just had sex, but...

I stumbled out of bed and crossed to my computer. The open browser window still showed the thread I'd created. "A ten minute talk early on, and the whole game would be different," read my message, still at the top. 

Right beneath it, some clever asshat had written, "Your glibness does you no credit," and locked the thread. 

EPILOGUE #2: 

_But now I sort of prefer this?_

By the time I woke up in the morning, Loghain had been gone for ages. He was an early riser--which, honestly, was ordinarily an instant disqualification from my circle of acquaintance. Waking up at dawn without the aid of a battery of industrial-strength alarm clocks is unnatural. 

But I was in the mood to be forgiving.

I found my clothes stacked and folded neatly on a chair, which I definitely had not done myself, and put them on. Finger-combed my hair and decided that if I looked half as good as I felt, I must look amazing, and that would have to do. 

In the past, because I'd been benignly imprisoned, someone from the kitchens had brought meals to my door and then one of the knights had delivered the food into my hands. Then I ate alone, thinking resentful thoughts. Now that I could roam free, I had no idea how to find food. 

Twenty minutes later and hungrier than ever, I stumbled upon Alistair, Leliana, and Zevran. They were idling about in a hallway--I'd kept going down, thinking the kitchens must be on the bottom floor or a basement, but I'd probably strayed close to the entrance. Alistair looked queasy but Leliana and Zevran both smirked, which made me wish I'd found a comb during my wanderings. 

"I was wondering if we'd run into you," said Leliana. "Have you been busy preparing for our adventure?" 

"Um..." She was so perky and awake I had a feeling that admitting I was busy looking for breakfast would provoke another laugh.

"We came to tell Teyrn Loghain that we've found a ship," Leliana continued. "A nice fast one. The captain, Isabela, has offered what I think is a very reasonable rate." 

I frowned. "That doesn't sound like her. Who's she trying to sleep with?" 

Zevran laughed. "Everyone, of course. She might have resisted the temptation of _one_ devastatingly good-looking hero, but a half-dozen of us? Impossible." 

"Fair point," I acknowledged. "I have to admit, I see where she's coming from." 

Zevran grinned. "We are going to get along _swimmingly_." 

"And we leave tomorrow," Alistair cut in. "Hasn't anyone told you?" 

"Well, _you_ just did." 

"Yeah." Alistair drew the word out and made his 'swooping is bad' face, lopsided and dubious, and I almost squealed. "Are you all there... I mean all right, are you all right?" 

"I'm really hungry." 

Zevran snickered. "She has worked up an appetite!" he said under his breath, but... not subtly at all, since I heard him just fine. 

"The kitchens are that way." Leliana pointed. "Once we're at sea, I can do your hair for you!"

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Is it that bad?" 

"You have lovely hair," Leliana soothed, and I once again admired her diplomacy. 

"All right. Well, um. Until tomorrow!" 

I found breakfast. A few months later, I helped find Maric. He looked terrible, and he insisted on finding Yavana and fulfilling his promise before he'd go home, but we brought him back to Denerim in one piece. It took Alistair a long while to warm to his father, and even longer before he could even manage a civil conversation with Loghain, but it happened eventually. It had to--Alistair gravitated toward military command. He'd take control of the armies eventually; until then, he needed work with Loghain. Necessity is the mother of biting your tongue on nasty comments, after all. 

Me? I started a restaurant. And introduced double-entry bookkeeping to the royal treasury. And spilled a few secrets, because now that I was Team Ferelden, I'd cheat for all I was worth.


End file.
